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BOUQUET 



OF 



POESY; 



BY THEODORE A GOULD. 



Now, little book, go forth— fair may thy fortune be,— 
Though ethers note thy faults, still art thou clear to mc. 



PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR, 

AND FOR SALE AT THE PRINCIIAI. BOOKSTORES. 

1S48. 




X-t. 






y^ 



SPAFFORD D. MACDONALD, PRINTER, 
No. 12 Spruce-st., N. Y. 



PREFACE. 



It can be of no very important interest to the reader, 
whether the author, in holding forth to the eyes of the world 
this little bouquet of poesy— these unpretending flowers of 
peaceful thought— was either impelled by a desire for gain, 
or allured by fame, or inspired by vanity. The work must 
rest on its own intrinsic merits, if it possess any, for the au- 
thor is not willing to incur any risk of compromising that 
reputation for modesty for which he is so peculiarly distin- 
guished, by any attempt at an exposition of the motives and 
circumstances that prompted him to launch his bark upon 
the uncertain tide of authorship. You are welcome to the 
viands, such as they are, and if, upon tasting, they suit not 
your palate, why— then abstain from them. However, he 
trusts that some gratification may be gathered from the varied 
store, by even the most fastidious. 

These pages contain no sentiments that are uncongenial 
with the purest morality. That it is the legitimate province 
of poetry to cultivate the mind, to purify, to ennoble, and to 
guide the heart, and to spiritualize the imagination, is the 
author's firm belief; and to those who coincide with him in 
this view, this little volume will not be uninteresting. 

Who will deny, that poetry possesses the power to exert a 
refining influence over the heart ? Surely none ! A divine 

has said : 

" O speak no ill of poetry, 
For 'tis a holy thing." 

It flings a soft and mellow blush of beauty around our path 
of life with its magic radiance ; it throws an odor over the 
senses, sweeter than the honeyed breath of flowers. Oh ! cold 



must be the heart as Andes' snow, that would refuse to inhale 
the divine fragrance ! Poetry is ever ready to mingle its 
sympathies with the heart. To the religious devotee it comes 
clothed with heavenly beauty, when it speaks, in the glowing 
terms of inspiration, of the Omnipotence and goodness of 
the Creator, and expatiates upon the glories of his kingdom. 
'Tis welcomed by the moralist when it teaches the duties of 
humanity, and inculcates a spirit of charity and benevolence. 
It comes to the lover like a gentle confidante, and with a lan- 
guage not to be misunderstood ; and the mysterious chords of 
sympathy are again awakened and vibrate pleasantly in his 
heart. To the patriot, when the trumpet-tones of victory 
peal forth in spirit-stirring strains, and the glory of his coun- 
try is the theme. To the earth-worn and weary, in whose bo- 
som the lamp of hope burns dimly, who are borne down to the 
earth with many sorrows, it comes with a " still small voice " 
whispering consolation — it points with uplifted finger to the 
throne of God, and bids the sufferer be of good cheer, that a 
brighter day will dawn for him, that God cannot forget his 
creatures, but watcheth over them always. 

It must not be inferred that the author has the vanity to as- 
sume that his little volume possesses all the lofty and refining 
attributes he has declared to belong to true poetry. Of the 
artistic merits of his productions he says nothing, but in the 
principles and sentiments comprised therein, he has the full- 
est confidence. They contain nothing to offend the most rigid 
sectarian ; they clash not with any creed — religious or politi- 
cal. He who would fetter the free judgment of his fellows, is 
a libel on his Maker, and the disgrace of humanity. With 
these brief remarks, the author commits his bantling to your 
tender care, t. a. g. 



THE DYING CHILD. 



THE DYING CHILD. 



" There is a world above, 
Where parting is unknown — 

A long eternity of love, 

Formed for the good alone." 



With grief oppressed, a mother stands beside the suffer- 
er's bed ; 
Her pale and sunken lips foretell that hope hath nearly fled : 
Yet do not call her wretched — for in accents low and clear 
Such sweet consoling words as these fall gently on her ear : 

" I'll not be with you long, mother — 

I soon must say good-bye ; 
But, mother, we shall meet again 

In God's bright home on high. 
Oh, mother, do n't you know you said 

Sweet sister's living there — 
And that she is an angel now, 

So beautiful and fair ! 

" She will know me, when I come, mother, 

She will take me by the hand : 
And we'll always be together there. 

In yonder peaceful land : 



THE DYING CHILD. 



And, mother, I shall wear bright wings — 

I'll he an angel too ! 
And then before God's golden throne, 

I'll kneel and pray for you. 

"I like to feel your hand, mother, 

So soft upon my brow ; 
I always loved its gentle touch — 

'T is dearer to me now. 
Oh, mother, do not weep for me, 

I'm not afraid to die ; 
Your lip is trembling, Bnd I see 

The tears are in your eye. 

" Lean closer down — your ear, mother — 

My voice is growing weak : 
You are weeping yet — I felt a tear 

Just fall upon my cheek. 
My eyes grow dim — and, oh, I hear 

Sweet music from the sky I 
It is for me — I'm going now — 

Mother — good-bye — good-bye !" 

And like the last soft beam of light that fades at close of day. 
That gentle spirit took its flight and passed from earth away : 
But now in shining vesture clad, with radiant face he stands. 
Blending his songs of love and praise with bright-robed 
angel bands ! 



TO MY MOTHER. 



TO MY MOTHER. 



I'll not forget thee, mother dear, 

Though far from thee away 5 
I see thy fond face in my dreams; 

I think of thee by day. 
And like a radiant star that shines 

Within some glassy stream. 
Thy gentle memory cheers my breast 

With sweet and tranquil beam. 

I oft recall the times, mother. 

When standing by thy knee, 
A little, careless, playful child, 

With laughter wild and free. 
And often thou didst sing for me. 

Some simple ballad strain ; 
Or tell me tales of giant men, 

By pigmy warriors slain. 

When pain and sickness came, mother, 

Who then so kind as thou ! 
Thy cool soft hand so gently prest 

Upon my fevered brow. 



10 



TO MY MOTHER. 



And when returned to health again 

By thy restoring art ; 
I've read upon thy beaming face 

The love v^ithin thy heart. 

Ah, those are sacred times, mother, 

They cannot be forgot; 
Each through the misty past will shine, 

A green and sunny spot. 
And, mother, from the path of truth 
Fear not that I shall stray ; 
For thy dear memory still will lead 
My heart the better way. 



THE CRUCIFIXION. H 



• THE CRUCIFIXION. 

" He said, " I am the Son of God." 

They nailed him to the cross ! and as he hung 

In patient suffering there, the sponge of gall 

They thrust against his lips ; and rudely flung 

Reproach and insult on him ; still his call 

Was, " Father forgive them." Thus this martyr died ', 

To love of human kind, a sacrifice — 

A victim to mad zeal, and jealous pride. 

Meekly their scoffs he bore till life was fled ; 

Then came his brave soul's triumph ! Then the skies 

Grew dark as midnight ; and to startled eyes 

Appeared again on earth the shrouded dead ; 

And rocks were rent, and stern hearts shook with dread. 

Ages have since rolled by; yet still his worship'd name 

In brightening lustre shines, God's mercy to proclaim. 



12 THE SABBATH BELLS. 



THE SABBATH BELLS. * 

The bells of the holy Sabbath 

Are ringing out soft and clear 5 
And their solemn and sacred music 

Falls pleasantly on the ear ] 
While their sweet, persuasive summons, 

Recalls God's high behest : 
" Six days shalt thou have for labor, 

But the seventh shall be for rest I" 

The tools of the weary workman 

Are lying unheeded now ; 
His arm hath ceased from toiling, 

And smiles play o'er his brow; 
For he lists to the church-bells ringing, 

And blesses that high behest : 
" Six days shalt thou have for labor, 

But the seventh shall be for rest !" 

And the heart, no matter how sinful, 
With a purer impulse shells. 

As it thrills to the soothing cadence 
Of the blessed Sabbath bells : 



THE SABBATH BELLS. 13 

For their tones, so calm and earnest, 

Are echoed -within the breast : 
" Six days shalt thou have for labor, 

But the seventh shall be for rest !" 

Oh, a blessed day is the Sabbath, 

With its sweetly chiming bells ', 
For the spirit of calm devotion 

In their clear vibration dwells ; 
When the toil-worn are reminded 

Of Jehovah's high behest : 
" Six days shalt thou have to labor, 

But the seventh shall be for rest 1" 



14 



LOUISIANA — A SONNET. 



LOUISIANA— A SONNET. 



Bright are thy skies, oh, fair and sunny land ! 

Blest Louisiana ! kindly nature gives, 
As a fond mother to a darling child ; 

And with foreseeing care each want relieves, 
Scattering her blessings, with a liberal hand, 

Of rich luxuriance o'er thy fertile fields; — 
Sweet flowers of rarest beauty — and how mild 

Is the free air they breathe — the lovely things ! 
God's tinted revelations ! And they preach 

Their silent lessons to the heart of man, 
Of purer excellence than priest may teach, 

Of never failing wisdom. Yes, sweet land, 
Fair are thy skies, and fields, and flowers, and waters. 
And brave thy generous sons, and kind thy bright-eyed 
daughters. 



ISIDORE. 



15 



ISIDORE 



Oh ! thou art very dear to me, 

Isidore ! 
Thou art very dear to me — 
And like the wild bird, joyously, 
Seeking, with gushing melody, , 
His lone-love, waiting silently — 
So wings my spirit unto thee, 

Isidore ! 

Undying is my love for thee — 

Isidore ! 
Undying is my love for thee — 
And as a star that tremblingly. 
From heaven's cloudless canopy. 
Reflects its soft light faithfully, 
Thou shinest in my memory, 

Isidore ! 

Slumber bringeth dreams of thee, 
Isidore ! 
Slumber bringeth dreams of thee — 
Thine eyes beam on me tenderly ; 
I clasp thy sweet form fervently— 
My lips press thine in ecstacy ! 
But waking breaks the fantasy ! 
Isidore ! 



16 



THE RAIN. 



THE RAIN. 



Rain ! rain ! rain ! 

Oh, dear, will it never stop ! 
One can't stir out a single step 

But he's spattered with mud and slop. 
It's most two weeks to-day, 

Since first this rain begun ; 
And now its a treat to the eye to greet 

A ray of the blessed sun. 

Rain ! rain ! rain ! 

No sun to be seen to-day ; 
It's beginning again, for the window pane 

Is bedimmed by the drizzling spray. 
Now, everybody you meet 

Is hateful, and crabbed, and cross — 
As though they had met, in the mud and wet 

With some very lamentable loss. 

Oh ! Pluvius, what do you mean ? — 

Pray, have you not any regard 
For us mortals below, and do you not know 

It's not fair, and it's certainly hard 1 
Oh ! now it don't rain a drop — 

And the sun flings down a glance 
Of indignant pride, as though he'd preside, 

If he had but the smallest chance. 



THE RAIN. 



17 



Pshaw ! no ! — we had hoped in vain — 

The weather's a pert coquette — 
By the clouds that frown, it will soon come down 

In a manner unequalled yet. 
Hurrah ! just listen to that — 

Good gracious, how it pours ! 
Oh ! where are the feet of the folks in the street — 

Hark ! how the thunder roars ! 

See ! there go three little boys, 

No rag upon them dry ; 
Perhaps they would wade, but I guess they're afraid 

It's a little too deep to try. 
See that woman, there, over the way ! 

She appears in a terrible plight : 
She seems in distress — a mermaid^ I guess. 

With the fishy half out of sight. 

Ha ! ha ! she has taken a dive ! 

He ! he ! it is wrong, I know, 
To sit safe and dry, from the wrath of the sky, 

And laugh at another's woe. 
Might as well laugh as cry — 

Can't do her any harm : 
Ha! ha! oh, dear, if she'd only come here, 

I'd gallantly offer my arm. 



18 



THE RAIN. 



There goes a limping old wretch. 

Afflicted with ague and gout ; 
Excited with pain, he curses the rain, 

And the chance that induced him out. 
With both propellers submerged. 

How he pokes along like a dunce ; 
I know it's not right, yet I'd take a delight 

To see him dip under once. 



Rain ! rain ! rain ! 

I'm becoming a different man ; 
I've felt, at each hour, my temper grow sour, 

Since this hateful rain began, 
I can not go out at all, 

But here I am forced to remain ; 
I'll enjoy all I see with a fiendish glee — 

Ha ! ha ! it is pouring again ! 



THE ANGEL OF CHARITY. 19 



THE ANGEL OF CHARITY. 



" Know," replied the angel, " I am the same : 

I tried your charity, 
When in a beggar's garb you took me up. 
And clothed my naked limbs, and after fed. 
As you believed, my famished mouth. Learn all 
By your example, to look on the poor 
With gentle eyes ! for in such habits, often 
Angels desire an alms." 



Oh, grant an alms to the suffering poor, 

From your purse of hoarded gold ; 
Give something to stop the biting pangs 

Of hunger and of cold : 

God will smile on the generous deed, 
And repay it an hundred fold. 
Spirits unseen are hovering near, 

To bear report of good actions here ; 
And the angel of charity waits above, 

To record such deeds in her book of love : 

Heed not his country, name, nor creed, — 

Nor the cause that worked his woe, 
'Tis enough that his misery needs the boon. 
He begs thee to bestow. 

Thou'rt richly paid, when his sunken eyes, 
With grateful pleasure glow. 



20 



THE ANGEL OF CHARITY. 



Spirits unseen are hovering near, 
To bear report of good actions here ; 

And the angel of charity waits above, 
To write such deeds in her book of love : 



Then something give to the child of want, 

While his pangs you can relieve, 
And your heart will feel, it is better far 

To give than to receive. 

Thank God, thou'rt not in the tangling net 
Adversity loves to weave. 
Spirits unseen are hovering near. 

To bear report of good actions here ; 
And the angel of charity waits above, 

To record such deeds in the book of love. 



I CANNOT FORGET THEE. 



21 



*I CANNOT FORGET THEE. 

" The heart that loves, 
Dwells in an Eden, hearing angel-lutes, 
As Eve, in the First Garden. 

Oh, I ne'er can forget thee, — 

The pulses that start, 
So strangely and wild, 

In the depths of my heart, 
Where thy dear face is glassed, 

In its life-lighted stream, 
Declare that my love 

Is no vanishing dream. 

Oh, I ne'er can forget thee, 

Though brilliantly shine 
The glances of young eyes, 

As beaming as thine. 
Ah, forever the bright sun 

From earth shall depart, 
E'er thy image, thou loved one, 

Shall fade from my heart. 

When no more to the hour 
The dial points true,— 

When refuses the flower 
The night-falling dew,— 



22 



I CANNOT FORGET THEE. 



When the eje dwells no more 
On the rose in its bloom, — 

Or the senses disdain 
To inhale its perfume ; — 



When the spirit of childhood 

Forgetteth its mirth, — 
Or the birds of the wildwood 

To gladden the earth, — 
When the stars fail to shine, 

Or the seasons to roll, — 
Shall the night of indifference 

Darken my soul. 



LOOK CHEERFUL. 



23 



LOOK CHEERFUL. 



The face that beaming smiles illume, 
Denotes a breast where roses bloom, 
Of goodness, shedding sweet perfume, 
Look cheerful. 

Look cheerful when thou wouldst impart 
A solace to the care-worn heart ', 
'Twill take from woe its keenest smart. 
Look cheerful. 

Kind smiles are lovely as the light 
Of Luna's beams, when clear and bright 
They shine in some calm Summer night. 
Look cheerful. 

Smiles have the potent power to fling 
A radiance over life. And bring 
A freshness like the breath of Spring. 
Look cheerful. 

Sweet smiles are welcome everywhere. 
They come like angels soft and fair, 
Beguiling thoughts of gloom and care. 
Look cheerful. 

Austerity deforms the face- 
But cheerfulness imparts a grace, 
That envious Time can ne'er erase. 
Look cheerful. 



24 



THE KISS. 



THE KISS. 



Upon the perfumod pillow of her lips, 
Love, smiling, sleeps." 



Now dearest, none are near us ; let my arm 

Thy pliant form encircle — thus. A charm — 

A strange and quickened pulse runs through my heart, 

At this sweet sense of nearness. Oh, thou art 

My wildly worshipped idol ! Thus, thy head 

Incline upon my shoulder — so : and let me part 

These glossy tresses from thy snowy brow : 

Why ! like some timid fawn thou tremblest now ! 

And from thy soft, warm cheek the rose has fled — 

Dost thou not love me then ? Oh yes ! that sigh 

Declareth more than words, love's deepest bliss : 

We'll seal the sweet averment with a kiss — 

And let those rich, red clinging lips of thine 

Give sweetly back the answering thrill to mine. 



THE FROST AND THE FLOWER. A THOUGHT. 25 



THE FROST AND THE FLOWER. 



'Twas an evening in Autumn ! the Frost King did hie 

To a hank near the rivulet's side ; 
Where, amid the hright flowers that greeted his eye, 

The fairest he chose for his hride. 
But the timid young thing, in its beauty and pride. 

Seemed to shrinjk from the gaze of his eyes ; 
Then closely he clasped it—" Oh ! wilt thou 1" he sighed ? 
It wilted—Sind Death seized the prize. 



A THOUGHT. 



Man is like a flower, 

That springeth at the dawn,— 
Droopeth at the evening hour, — 

Withers— and is gone. 

But no longer like the flower, — 
For its honeyed essence dies ; 

While the soul, in death's dark hour, 
Mounteth to the skies ! 



26 



THE lover's dream. 



THE LOVER'S DREAM. 



By the vine tree's shade, one pleasant night, 
Two lovers stood; while the liquid light 
That Luna shed from her starry height, 

Made the sweet scene more dear. 
Anon their eyes did meet — anon, 
In soft abashment her's would shun 
His gaze. And thus, in fervent tone, 

He then addressed her ear: 



"I dreamed of thee last night; I dreamed that thou 

Stood then beside me as thou standest now ; 

Sweetly my sense drank in thy voice's tone — 

I clasp'd thy soft hand, thus, within mine own : 

Then as I gazed within those lustrous eyes. 

That shame the stars in brightness, did thy sighs 

Reveal the struggling secret thou wouldst hide ; 

And then I drew thee to my heaving breast, 

While all my soul my murmured words confess'd. 

Oh, this was rapture ! And the time did glide 

Like the sweet cadence of a soothing song, 

Or like a gurgling stream that flows along ; 

Then as my cheek to thine did warmly press — 

Wilt thou, said I, be mine '^ And thou didst answer Yes !'" 



FRANCE A SONNET. — CHILDREN WITH FLOWERS. 27 



FRANCE— A SONNET. 



" Vive la Republic !" Thus the shouts rang clear, 

In deafening peals upon the startled air ; 
The breezes bear them to the monarch's ear; 
" Down with the throne !" Then fast increasing fear 
Spreads through his guilty heart — while loud and near 

The cry forewarns of danger ! Chill despair 
Unnerves the sceptred hand, and from its grasp 

The sign of power falls. Nearer is heard 
"Down with the monarchy !" Then, seized with dread, 
He flings aside the crown that decked his head ; 
And flies for safety. Yesterday his word, 
The trampled hearts of millions might have stirred ; 
To-day, France ! the indignant arm of right 
Hath crushed forevermore the tyrant's might ! 



CHILDREN WITH FLOWERS. 



I saw, before ni}^ door, a little band 

Of joyous children pass — each tiny hand 

A bunch of sweetest flowers upheld to view, 

Embathed with glittering drops of morning dew : 

Each little sinless bosom seemed to swell 

Beneath the influence of their silent spell ! 

I tho't how blest were earth, could flowers impart 

Perrenial bloom and gladness to the heart ! 



28 



THERE IS A GOD. 



THERE IS A GOD. 



'• Tho fool hath said in his heart, ' There is uo God.' " 

No God ! Vain mortal art thou blind ? 

Doth error's gloomy pall 
Shut out the day-beams from thy mind, 

And hold thy soul in thrall '? 

No God ! Tear down the sombre veil 
That hides Him from thy sight ! 

Let the bright beams of truth prevail, 
And banish falsehood's night ! 

No God 1 Behold yon golden sun — 

So glorious, and so grand ! 
Think'st thou his daily course could run, 

Without some guiding hand '? 

No God ? Then why the luscious fruit, 

The rolling seasons bring ?• 
What is it forms the living shoot — 

Or starts the bubbling spring ? 

No God 1 The trees, the birds, the flowers, 
The stars that gleam on high — 

The sun, the stream, the falling showers. 
Refute thy impious lie ! 



THE LITTLE NEGRO BOY. 29 

THE LITTLE NEGRO BOY. 

A Highly Colored Picture. 



The sky was blue, the waves were green, 
When seated on some cotton bales, 

With tearful eyes, was Dinah seen. 
Watching a schooner's ragged sails, 

And thus to heaven she prayed a prayer : 
" Thou dat kin smash and kin distroy, 

0, do take care wid careful care, 

And watch my little nigger boy ! 

" When storms at night wid mighty might, 

Shall make de white folks start wid dread, 
Den do not let de lightnin light 

On my dear darlin's woolsy head. 
Nor do not let de sunshine shine, 

Wid burnin beams dat will destroy. 
In de big large eyes dat do adorn, 

De beauty ob my nigger boy. 

"And when my darlin's dreamin dreams. 

Let not de sailors take delight, 
While slumberin in de arms ob sleep. 

To duck him in de waves at night : 
And when he lands on foreign shore. 

Let no black wench my hopes destroy : 
But guard his feet-steps evermore, 

And bring me back dat nigger boy !" 



30 



ALWAYS SOME FUN LEFT. 



ALWAYS SOME FUN LEFT. 



When thy soul is o'ercast 

With dark shadows of care, 
And hope at the last 

Almost yields to despair, 
Just hold on a while — do not sorrow and fret, 
Consider — there's always a little fun yet ! 



Though the sun oft goes down 

Amid tempest and rain, 

The sweet flowers of morning 

Will hail it again ; 

So, hold on awhile — do not sorrow and fret, 

Consider — there's always a little fun yet ! 



BYE-PAST DATS. ^l 



BYE-PAST DAYS. 



Whene'er my memory brings to view, 

Through gathering shadows of the past, 
Bright forms that erst in youth I knew, 
Whose hearts were kind, whose lips were true,- 
Strange clouds my brow o'ercast. 

My heart thrills to the very core. 

With deep emotions, sweet, though sad ; 
And well loved names are murmured o'er, 
Of friends my eyes shall greet no more, 
That made my boyhood glad. 

The fond companions of my play. 

Who shared my youthful hopes and joys, 
Long, long ago,— where now are they 1 
My sad heart whispers—" Far away "— 
" They've done with childhood's toys." 

Where are the girls I loved to chase. 

With shout and laugh, to win a kiss '? 
Sweet was the prize, and short the race : 
And soft the hands that slapped my face, 
For " doing so a-miss.'''' 



32 



BYE-PAST DAYS. 



Gay times ! those loving hearts are now 

Launched out on life's broad billowy stream, 
And Care, perhaps, on many a brow, 
Is driving deep his furrowing plough. 
Where gladness used to beam. 

Some roam abroad, in stranger lands, 
Some, in the quiet grave, lie low ; 

The tyrant Time, with stealthy hands, 

Has parted many tender bands, 
That bound me long ago. 



CAUSE AND EFFECT. 33 



CAUSE AND EFFECT: 

OR, HOW THEY THREW THEMSELVES AWAY. 
" Touch not — taste not," 

Two pair of eyes, by Fate's design, 

Did meet with flashes tender — 
One pair was of the masculine, 

And one the female gender. 
Enraptured, each in each would gleam — 

Some potent spell commanding — 
Both drinking from the heart-horn stream 

Of sweetest understanding. 
T cannot say their owners tried 

Each budding thought to smother, 
Or if they felt a thrill of pride 

In thinking of each other ; 
But who had heard the struggling sigh. 

And marked their glances stealing. 
Were dull in wit could not descry 

The unconscious soul's revealing. 
The laws of temperance they did shame 

By this wild contemplation. 
Till helpless victims both became 

To loves intoxication. 
At last so closely drew the snare 

Of passion's magic tether, 
They formed the rash resolve to share 

Love's nect'rous cup forever ! 



34 



SING ME THAT SWEET SONG AGAIN. 



SING ME THAT SWEET SONG AGAIN. 



" To leave an echo that might seem, 
The asrial music of a dream." 



Oh, sing that little song again ! 

The song you sang when last we met ; 
Some echoes of its pleasing strain 

Are lingering in my spirit yet — 
As when at night the moonlit lake 

Is wakened from its passive sleeping, 
And its waves in music break 

Shoreward by the breezes sweeping — 
So thy song a soft commotion 

Wakes on memory's silent shore, 
And recollection's spirit-ocean 

Moves its sleeping tides once more. 



Then sing that little song again, 

I love to drink its cadence in, 
Oh, there's a magic in its strain 

Rich treasure from the past to win ! 
Dear faces rise before my view. 

With bright eyes fondly on me beaming, 



TO A SANCTIMONIOUS BIGOT. 



35 



And scenes that in the past I knew, 
When joyful thoughts were ever teeming. 

What though fleeting be the vision, 
Bliss on earth can ne'er remain ; 

Yet grant once more the joy Elysian — 
Sing me that sweet song again ! 



TO A SANCTIMONIOUS BIGOT. 



Scorner of this beauteous earth, 

Blind to all that's bright and fair ; — 
Moaning at its harmless mirth, 

And the joys thou wilt not share ; 
Could you be to heaven lifted, 

How you'd groan in deep despair. 
When you found the bright-robed angels. 

Could be happy, even there ! 



36 



THE DECAY OF BEAUTY. 



THE DECAY OF BEAUTY 



She once was beautiful ! but now 

Time's deepening marks deform her brow : 

And roses that were blooming fair, 

Upon her cheek no more are there. 

Yes, she was beautiful ! her eye 

Was like the clear and cloudless sky, — 

And every look bespoke the mind 

Her smooth and sunny brow enshrined. 

Her form possessed that perfect grace 

The sculptor feels a joy to trace 

In spotless marble, cold and still. 

With cautious hand and jealous skill : — 

And oh, a voice more soft and clear 

Ne'er blest the spell-bound listner's ear. 

Oh she was beautiful ! but now 

Upon the high and joy-lit brow, 

Stern time has passed his furrowing share, 

And left his hateful records there. 

The roses of her cheeks are dead — 

The lustre of her eye is fled ; — 

And in her dark hair you may view 

Some silver strangers peeping through ; — 



THE DECAY OF BEAUTY. 37 

Those guests unwelcome who presage 
The nearness of approaching age. 

Oh, is there aught to cheer the heart, 
When beauty's fleeting charms depart — 
Leaving the form of clay they deck, 
A tarnished shrine — a crumb'ling wreck 1 
There is ! it is that p^ace of mind 
None but the good can ever find : — 
That fadeless sunshine of the breast 
Which soothes the world- worn soul to rest ; 
This sheds for her its holiest rays. 
Blessing her life's declining days, 



38 



A FANCY SKETCH. 



A FANCY SKETCH. 



Artis est celare artem.' 



Her "brow is of the lily's hue, 

Bedecked with jetty curls , 
Her parted lips disclose to view 

Two rows of shining pearls. 

Her eyes like sister stars appear — 

Twin sister stars of night ; 
When beaming from their azure sphere, 

So beautiful and bright. 

Her lashes like the inky fringe 

Upon the raven's plume : 
Her cheeks possess the mellow tinge 

Of roses in their bloom. 

The sun of joy for me would shine 

Methinks without a cloud 5 
If this sweet form were only mine, 

With mortal life endowed. 



THERE ARE STORMS ON LIFE'S DARK OCEAN. 



39 



THERE ARE STORMS ON LIFE'S DARK OCEAN. 



The child 'neath rosy skies of morning, 

Trims his vessel's tiny sail : 
His joyous laugh, all peril scorning, 

Mingles with the wooing gale. 

He dreameth not of care nor sadness j 
The world to him is fair and bright — 

High his bosom swells with gladness ; 
Flowers of pleasure bless his sight. 

Years have passed. And stern emotion 
Sits upon that changing brow : 

" There are storms on life's dark ocean," 
He must learn that lesson now. 

Years have passed. That bark is driving 

Bravely on its swift career ; 
The youth to manhood grown, is striving 

With new dangers ever near. 

Firm his hand the helm is guiding ', 
He is watchful. But his breast, 

Once so trustful and confiding, 
Now with care is deep opprest. 



40 THERE ARE STORMS ON LIFE'S DARK OCEAN. 



Years have passed. And stern emotion 
Broods upon his world-^vorn brow ; 

"There are storms on life's dark ocean," 
He hath learned that lesson now. 

Years have passed. Behold that battered 

Lonely vessel floating past ; 
The sails are torn, the spars are shattered 

By the lightning and the blast. 

In the broken bark reposing, 
Mark that old and feeble form ; 

His busy scenes at last are closing, 
Scenes of sunshine and of storm. 

His eyes are raised in calm devotion — 
Faith now smoothes his aged brow; 

" There are storms on life's dark ocean," 
Well he knows the lesson now. 



SING FOR ME. 



41 



SING FOR ME. 



Sing for me ! — strange clouds are "brooding 

Darkly o'er my soul to-night ] 
Sing ! — and sombre thouglits intruding, 

Shall thy music put to flight. 

Sing for me ! — this dark commotion 
Thy sweet voice shall lull to rest— 

This tumult of the spirit-ocean, 
Eaging wildly in my breast. 

Sing me, then, some song of gladness, 
Some sweet, spirit-moving strain ; 

'Twill dissolve these clouds of sadness. 
And restore my peace again. 



42 there's something good in every heart. 



THERE'S SOMETHING GOOD IN EVERY HEART. 

Would'st win the crime-stained wanderer back, 
From vice's dark and hideous track — 
Let not a frown thy brow deform, 
'Twill add but fierceness to the storm. 
Deal kindly— in that bosom dark 
Still lingers virtue's glimmering spark — 
Plead with him — 'tis the nobler part, — 
There's something good in every heart ! 
Bring to his mind the early time, 
E'er sin had stained his soul with crime ; 
When fond afi"ection bless'd his hours — 
And strewed his joyous path with flowers ; 
When sportive jest and harmless glee 
Bespoke a spirit pure and free ; 

Plead with him— 'tis the nobler part— 
There's something good in every heart ! 

There was a time that head did rest, 

Close to a mother's yearning breast — 

A time his ear the precepts caught, 

A kind and virtuous father taught ; 

It matters not what treacherous ray, 

First lured his steps from virtue's way — 

Enough to know thou yet niay'st save 

The soul from sin's engulphing wave. 
Plead with him— 'tis the nobler part — 
There's something good in every heart ! 



GENTLE WORDS. 43 



GENTLE WORDS. 



Scorn to speak the words of strife — 

From evil good can seldom flow ; 
But words of kindness sweeten life, 

And change to friend the sternest foe. 
Gentle words ! how blest they are ! 

Like soft dews of Hermon, bringing 
Freshness to the heart's parterre, 

Where flowers of thought are ever springing. 
Be it, then, our zeal to cherish 

Kindly feelings ] and employ 
Gentle words, that hate may perish — 

Life possess a deeper joy ! 



44 



ON THE DEATH OF TWO CHILDREN. 



ON THE DEATH OF TWO CHILDREN. 



As two fair buds that gaily grew 

At morning in the bright parterre, 
Expanding 'neath the genial dew 

That fell so lightly on them there — 
But blighted ere the warming sun 

Hath yet attained his noonday reign, 
Destroying hopes that scarce begun 

To spring ere yet to die again — 
So came those little ones to cheer 

Like angels the parental hearth, 
Making the social scene more dear 

By cheerful words and harmless mirth 
The spell is past — for they are gone 

From earth and all its joys away — 
But Faith declares, a brighter dawn 

Now smiles npon an endless day ! 



WHEN THE NOISY DAY IS DONE. 



45 



WHEN THE NOISY DAY IS DONE. 



When the noisy day is done, — 
And the twilight shades appear, 

And the stars come, one by one, 
Glittering in their tranquil sphere ', 

Fancy brings thee to my side, — 

A bright and fair and gentle vision ; 

And the moments swiftly glide, 

Fraught with hopes and joys Elysian! 

And I clasp thy yielding form ; — 
In mine eyes thine own are shining; 

Our lips are pressed in kisses warm — 
Close thine arms are 'round me twining, 

And I hear thy trembling sigh, — 
Like the zephyr soft and fleeting ; — 

See thy blushes mounting high — 
Feel thy heart to my heart beating. 

Are these prophetic dreams — denoting 
Sun-bright pleasures, yet to beam^ 

Or like the transient bubbles, floating 
O'er a summer stream 1 



46 



BE TRUE TO ME. 



BE TRUE TO ME. 



Be true to me ! 
Oh, do not let the blaze 

Upon the altar of thy heart burn low ; 
But nurse with fondest zeal its blessed rays, 
That it may kindle to a brighter glow ! 
Be true to me ! 

Be true to me ; 
Be as the star that burns 

Calm and unchanging in the midnight air ; 
When unto thee my wearied spirit turns 
For sweet repose from all the storms of care. 
Be true to me ! 

Be true to me ; 
Not always may the bloom 

Of hope and gladness on my cheek remain ; 
And when dark thoughts shall shade my soul with gloom ; 
Thy tender accents still shall soothe my pain, 
Be true to me ! 

t Be true to me ; 

Or, like the hapless bark. 

Without its compass, on some stormy sea — 
No beacon-light to guide it through the dark — 

If thou prove faithless, will existence be ! 
Be true to me ! 



QUESTIONS ON THE DEATH PENALTY. 47 



QUESTIONS ON THE DE^TH PENALTY 



How is it '? when you doom to death 

Some victim for his crime- 
Accounting him not fit to live, 

You still allow him time 
To make his peace with God, for what 

Yourselves will not forgive ; 
Presuming him when fit to die, 

As not yet fit to live '? 

Now, though he be not fit to live. 

Is he prepared to die- 
Sent, strangled from this world of woe. 

Before his God on high 1 
You send unto his darkened soul 

Repentance and the priest. 
And when reduced to penitence, 

You hang him like a beast. 
How can you know just how much time 

Your victim should be given, 
For such repentance as shall send 

His spirit pure to heaven 1 
Supporters of the bloody code, 

I pause for a reply : 

How is it, if unfit to live, 

A man is fit to die '? 



48 



HAVE FAITH, AND PUSH FORWARD. 



HAVE FAITH, AND PUSH FORWARD. 



Have faith, and push onward ! don't get in a fret 3 
No good ever followed from fidgetting yet ; 
Though thy footsteps to-day be by evils beset, 

Yet never surrender to sorrow. 
The sternest of ills have an end to their stay ; 
For like clouds, though they gather and darken to-day, 
The sunshine of gladness will chase them away. 

And brighten your pathway to-morrow. 

On the chess-board of life, while we struggle and fight, 
We're as oft on the black side as on the fair white ; 
Yet let us push forward with courage and might, 

Confronting the ills that may gather. 
To the fretful and timid, life's burden of care 
Seems more than the shoulders of Atlas would dare ; 
But to those who its crosses enduringly bear, 

'Tis as much like the weight of a feather. 



A SIMPLE QUESTION. 



49 



A SIMPLE QUESTION. 



What have I done, that you should ever 

Haunt me so ? 
I never said I loved you — never, 

Scissors! No! 

In my mind, all day are roving 

Thoughts of thee ; — 
Like summer zephyrs, ever moving 



Indeed, I think it quite outrageous, — 

Yes, I do; — 
That I must even in my slumbers, 

Think of you. 

Wherefore always doth thy imago 

Form a part 
Of every scene of joy and beauty 

In my heart 1 

The sunbeam and the scented flower,- 
The whispering wind, — 

Bring thee every passing hour, 
To my mind. 



50 



A SIMPLE QUESTION. 



Like a fair and shadowy vision, 

Oft you come ; — 
And you are. my fond heart whispers, 

'■'■Pumpkins some.^'' 

I pray you tell me why you ever 

Plague me thus ; — 
Kicking up within my bosom, 

Such a fuss 1 

And now, when I address a lady, 

Not a doubt, 
But that instead of her cognomen, 

Yours pops out. 

Time, they say, is quite a soother, — 

That he flings 
In his flight oblivious ether 

From his wings. 

But in this case I have found him 
Useless quite ) 



Memory's light. 

I've praised your form, face, voice, and music. 

And all that ) 
And you can, for your songs melodious, 

''Take my hat!" 



A SKETCH OF IMAGINATION. 



51 



Have I done ^ught to make you haunt me 

Always so 1 
For gracious sake, I wish you'd tell me : 

Yes, or No ! 



A SKETCH OF IMAGINATION. 

Upon the cushioned couch she lies, 
Wrapped in slumber's sweet repose : 

How softly o'er her shaded eyes 
The long, dark silken lashes close ! 

Partly hid in flowing hair. 

One arm 'neath her head is resting : 

Angel-like she seemeth there. 

Blissful dreams her sleep investing — 

Dreams of love ! Her white breast, swelling. 
Burns with passion's purest flame ; 

And now her smile-wreathed lips are telling- 
Joyful heart! — the lov'd one's name ! 



52 



AN ODE TO THE NEW YEAR. 



AN ODE TO THE NEW YEAR. 



A Happy New Ye?a' ! friends, the sun 

Has ushered in another year ; 
Oh ! let us thank the Holy One 

For life and friends, and kindred dear; 
Let gratitude within the heart. 

Like some out-gushing fountain flow ; — 
And from the lips, thanksgiving start, 

For God's rich blessings here below. 

If lingering memories of the strife 

Of bye-past scenes thy heart retain, 
Dismiss them now; — for surely life 

Hath more of pleasure than of pain. 
If man to man but true would be, 

This world an Eden yet might prove ; 
Then wrong and vile deceit would flee, 

And naught remain but truth and love. 

Oh ! there are signs that tell 

There's not a passing hour 
But the world increaseth well 

In knowledge, truth, and power ; — 
That right shall conquer wrong ; — 



AN ODE TO THE NEW YEAR. 



53 



And shed her streaming light 
O'er all the groping forms that throng 
• Through Error's darksome night ; — 
That Truth's bright banner yet shall wave 
O'er Falsehood's ignominious grave. 
Yes, gentle-folks, the day is here — 

The day of pleasure, feast, and mirth : 
It comes you know but " once a year.,^^ 

To bless our little earth ; 
To fill with gladness loving hearts, 

Around the social hearth. 
Hurrah ! then, for the merriest day 

Of all days in the year ; 
When young eyes shed a brighter ray, 

And friends seem yet more dear ; 
Hurrah ! there's ahmys some fun left 

Life's weary path to cheer ! 

The past is nothing but the past, — 

No more may we recall 
The forms around whom Death hath cast 

His cold and gloomy pall ; 
Then let us guard our truant thoughts 

From sorrow's cankering thrall. 

Let joy like sun-rays sweetly smile 
Unchecked upon the brow — 

Why should the features be deformed 
By Care's deep furrowing plough '? — 



54 



AN ODE TO THE NEW YEAR. 



Why should the pi^st our thoughts beguile ? 

The present claims them now. 
Oh, life, at the best 

Is a hurrying tide — 
And smiles are the roses 

That bloom by its side ; 
And Hope is the sunshine 

That opens the flowers ] 
And Care, the dark storm-cloud 

That fearfully lowers. 

Ah ! then, if existence 

Is like the swift tide, 
Let us bask in its sunshine 

As onward we glide. 

Hurrah ! for the season of feasting and mirth — 
Praise to God for the joy that still blesses the earth ! 

Great country^ this ! in every land 
Our starry flag floats fair and free ; 

Our merchants every clime command, 
Our keels are ploughing every sea. 

The Gospel finds its genial home 

In this bright land of ours ; 
Its influence, like the dews that come- 

To cheer the thirsting flowers. 



Here valor's bravest warriors rise 
To vindicate their nation's right ; 



AN ODE TO THE NEW YEAR. 55 

And here oppression's victim flies 
From foreign tyrant's lordly might. 

And here are open heart sand hands 
As God's bright sun e'er shone upon ; 

Who send relief to starving lands, 
While royalty looks coldly on. 

Here Virtue, Talent, Genius, all 

A sure protection with us find ', 
We own no tyrants' jealous thrall 

To fetter down the soaring mind. 

The Press bestows its ceaseless care, 

To teach the willing mind ; — 
Its missives floating everywhere 

As leaves upon the wind. 

And where its printed pages fall — 

In mansion, hut, or mart, — 
They bring rich lessons unto all, 

And gladden many a heart. 

Once more, a Happy New Year ! may 

Prosperity's bright star illume 
Your path of life, where e'er you stray, 

And flowers of hope forever bloom. 



56 



LOVE ONE ANOTHER. 



LOVE ONE ANOTHER. 



" And oil ! if those who cluster round 

The altar and the hearth, 
Have gentle words and loving smiles, 

How beautiful is earth !" 



Oh, love one another ! for surely this life 
Hath sorrows enough without hatred and strife ; 
Sweet fragrance, like flowers, kind words ever bring, 
And hallow the bosom's parterre where they spring. 

Why not love one another 1 'tis better by far 
To live 'neath the banner of peace than of war ! 
From thy heart brush the clouds of contention away. 
And within its dark chambers let peace shed her ray ! 

And as lovely and calm as a poet's bright dream. 
Thy passage of life shall become in her beam: 
Kind words are like seed by the husbandman cast — 
That spring up and return a rich harvest at last. 

Only love one another ! who knows but what then 
We may make this wild world a bright Eden again ? 
We have only to try it — how much of its sin 
Springs from hatred and envy ! then let us begin 

To uproot from our hearts friendship's deadliest foe. 
That still chokes the sweet flowers of love as they grow. 
Let us love one another ! Life's noble estate 
Should ne'er be profaned by contention and hate. 



57 



KISSING 



" Give me a kigs, O Miss, a kiss ! 

Give me a kiss, O Miss ! 
Give me a kiss ! a kiss, O Miss ! 
Give me, O Miss, a kiss !" 

"And let its thrill be mutual." 



Some kiss but when it is their duty, 

Some will kiss to gain them booty, 

Some to Avin a trifling trinket — 

Though " for fun" they'd have you think it, 

Some kiss from careless inclination. 

Some from love's sweet captivation, 

Some wait until they are besought to. 

Some only when they think they ought to, 

But my resistless impulse to it, 

Is based on ^ cause iVs nice to do it! 



58 



A SONNET — TO THE MOON. 



SONNET— TO THE MOON. 



" When Phoebe cloth behold 
Her silv'ry visage in the watery glass, 
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass. 



Hail gentle Moon ! Bright empress of the night ! 
Sweet Moon, I love thee ! Not the earnest heart 
That throbs with joy in some appointed place, 
When the expected loved one cheers the sight, 
]May feel a deeper thrill of rapture start 
Than 1, sweet Moon, to greet thy pleasant face. 
I know that thou wilt ever constant be. 
Though loves of earth the chill of coldness feel — 
Still changing with the breath of circumstance, 
And all the various influences that steal 
The bloom and freshness of affection's glance ; 
Yet thou can'st never be estranged from me. 
Oh, holier lessons hast thou taught my heart, 
Than this world's shallow creeds can e'er impart. 



EVENING A SONNET. 



59 



EVENING— A SONNET. 



•' Then came still evening on, and twilight gray 
Had in her sober livery all things clad." 



How passing sweet the quiet evening hour !— 
When the fierce day-god sinks away from view, 
And stars come peeping from their vault of blue : 

How through the tranquil sense, with sacred power, 
The solemn, soothing silence sweetly steals; 

And crowding thoughts that vex'd the heart by day, 

Unfold their viewless wings and soar away. 
Oh, 'tis the season when the poet feels 

His deepest inspiration ! And the ray 
Of high intelligence, with clearer gleam, 

Illuminates his soul, whose glorious stream 

Of deathless beauty sparkles 'neath the beam. 
Oh, yes, thrice blessed is the evening time, 
Whose holy influence fills the soul with impulses 
sublime ! 



60 



virtue's evergreen. 



VIRTUE'S EVERGREEN. 

-^^^^^ 
The lilied brow, the rosy cheek, 

Where beaming smiles of beauty play, 
Are transient things : — they but beguile, 
As April's bland and fickle smile ; — 
They charm us with their light awhile, 
Then fade at last away : 

Then fade at last away ! The form 
So beautiful in youth's gay prime, 
Must shrivel up — the hair turn gray — 
The eye abate its lustrous ray — 
The smooth and pearly teeth decay — 
Beneath the touch of Time. 



Beneath the touch of Time ! A prize 

There is he cannot tovich, I ween : 
It bloometh always fair and bright, 
Through Spring's warm day or Winter's night, 
A plant his hand can never blight — 
'Tis Virtue's Evergreen ! 



ABSENT FRIENDS. 61 



ABSENT FRIENDS. 



Oh, absent friends ! Our hearts retain, 

With changeless love, your memories dear; 
We long to clasp your hands again, 

Your tones of music yearn to hear. 
The vacant pevy — the silent home — 

The walk at eve, when stars were burning, 
Where so oft we loved to roam — 

Seem to mourn your far sojourning. 
Now, if joy would cheer the breast, 

Longing thoughts are still intruding ; 
And, in haunts your presence blest, 

Seem your silent spirits brooding. 
Time rolls on ! Your glad returning 

For the past shall make amends ', 
For love's undying light Is burning 

Bright, to welcome absent friends ! 



62 



TO A CAPTIOUS CRITIC. 



TO A CAPTIOUS CRITIC. 



Suppress the wayward impulse of thy heart, 
Nor play the captious critic's thankless part — 
For mists of selfish pride and envy blind 
Thy better judgment, and obscure thy mind ; 
The meed of praise that's to the author due. 
Can ne'er be turned aside, dear sir, by you • 
'Tis yain to waste your shafts in fruitless aim— 
They come not near the target of his fame ! 



THE APPOINTMENT. 



63 



THE APPOINTMENT. 



Say, shall we meet at evening, love, 
When the silvery moon rides high, — 

And the bright-edged clouds are floating 
Through the blue and starry sky '? 

Oh! there's magic in the stillness, love, 

Of the soft and solemn night : — 
Yet, a deeper spell in thy voice doth dwell, 

And thy dark eyes glancing bright. 
And we^ll choose amid those sparkling worlds 

'Neath yon cerulean dome, — 
Of all so fair, the loveliest there, 

To be our future homo. 

A home where all is peace and love, 

Nor care may come, nor pain ; 
Where angels wake their golden harps, 

In one undying strain. 

Then, let us meet at evening, love, 

When the silvery moon rides high, — 
And bright-edged clouds are floating 
Through the blue and starry sky. 



64 



HOPE ON. 



HOPE ON. 



Hope on ! how oft the fairest night, 

Precedes the fairesfc day ! 
Oh guard thy soul from sorrow's blight — 
Clouds may obscure the day god's light, 
Yet shines it still as clear and bright, 

When they have passed away. 

Hope on ! though disappointment's wings 

Above thy path should soar ] 
Though slander drive her rank'ling stings, 



Though festering darts detraction 
Still must the storm pass o'er. 

If slave to poverty thou art, 

Bear bravely with thy lot : 
Though keen her galling chains may smart. 
Strive still to rend their links apart; 
Hope on ! for the desponding heart, 

God surely loveth not. 

Hope on ! Hope on ! though drear and dark, 
Thy future may appear ] 



HOPE ON. 65 



The sailor, m his storm-toss'd hark, 
Still guides the helm, and hopes to mark, 
Amid the gloom some beacon spark, 
His dangerous way to cheer. 

Thougfi wealth take wings, or friends forsake, 

Be not by grief opprest : — 
Stern Winter binds with ice the lake — 
But genial Spring its bands shall break ; 
Hope on ! a firmer purpose take, 

And leave to God the rest. 



66 



TO JULIA. 



TO JULIA. 



'Tis sweet to feel the fanning gale 

Of Spring upon the cheek, 
As, dancing from the flowery vale 
It comes, o'er hill and scented dale, 

Of rosy health to speak. 

Yet sweeter, from thy parted lips 

An incense breathes for me. 
Than flowers, where the wild bee sips — 
Or humming-bird so restless dips 

His tiny bill in glee. 

I love to hear the silvery notes 

Of redbreast in the grove. 
When morn has broken night's dark chain, 
And nature wakes refresh'd again 

To bid us live and love. 

Yet still — a dearer charm than these 

Can to my sense impart — 
Lives in the music of thy voice, 
Bidding my throbbing breast rejoice — 

Thou lov'd one of mv heart ! 



THE NEW YEAR. 67 



THE NEW YEAR. 



A happy New- Year ! Oh what thoughts 

Those simple words excite ; 
Of chiklhood's time, when friends were true, 

And pleasure's links were bright. 

And bye-gone scenes again we view, 

In memory's purest light ; 
Like the soft rays of twinkling stars, 

Seen through a clouded night. 

When we could hail the stranger year 

With loud and joyous voice ; 
And every hour had some sweet charm, 

To bid the heart rejoice. 

Oh ! how the impatient spirit longed 

To cast by childhood's toys — 
To brave alone life's tempting path, 

And revel 'midst its joys. 

And have those early dreams proved true ? 

Does Hope's unfading tree, 
Yield, now the fruit that blossom'd bright 

In years of revelry '? 



THE NEW YEAR. 



Can we review the flowery paths, 
Where once we loved to stray, 

And think not of some gentle one, 
Forever passed away 1 

Hath love retained each brilliant hue 
Through sunshine and through shade ? 

Has it not faded, e'en as breath 
Upon the polished blade ? 

Have we not learned how earthly hopes 

May perish in their bloom 1 
And but beguile us with their hues. 

As flowers upon a tomb ? 

Have we not seized Joy's glittering cup, 

With eagerness to sip ? 
Has Disappointment's envious hand 

Not dashed it from the lip 1 

What though these bitter memories 
Cause tear and sigh to start '? 

Still do they yield a holy balm 
Unto the chastened heart. 

A useful lesson may be learned, 

From each dark scene we've trod ; — 

They whisper of our helplessness — 
They bring us nearer God 1 



TO MARY. 



TO MARY. 



My muse, I wisli thine aid again, 
Oh let me call thee not in vain, 

I really need ye ! 
I long once more thy smiles to woo — 
Bid thy dear sisters then adieu, 

And hither speed ye ! 

Now, she whose charms I would indite, 
Is lovely as the star of night — 

A spotless gem ; 
If ever form that claimed its birth 
Above, came down to dwell on earth. 

She's one of them ! 

The day-god, as he sinks to rest. 

Hath not more calmness than her breast , 

Where not a cloud 
E'er hovers round to dim the stream 
Of life that seems a music-dream. 

No gloom shall shroud. 

This is a prolix style to write 
A character • perhaps it might 
Save much tautology, 



70 



TO MARY. 



To adopt a scientific way, — 

More brief than similes portray : — 

And that's phrenology. 
I'll now commence with Hope, and say. 
This organ forms 'gainst care's dark sway 

A shining targe ; 
And Veneration joined with this, 
Gives sweet belief in future bliss, — 

She has them large. 
Numbers, I think, the various grades 
Of character, in all its shades. 

Will best express ; 
Well, Caution, 5 — five plus, perhaps, 
Would Fowler mark it on his maps ; 

' TVs more or less. 
Them Memory 6 ; — that casket where 
Are treasured gems more rich and rare 

Than mines contain : 
Deprived of which, existence were 
One dreary, wild, chaotic jar — 

A stormy rain. 
Secretiveness is small indeed, 
A little more might Mary need — 

It hath its use ; 
Cunning, 'tis true, the heart distorts, 
Yot too much candor often courts 

The world's abuse. 



TO m'ary. 71 



Tune large — 6 plus ; how soft and clear 
Her mellow tones salute the ear, 

I can attest ; 
When joy departs, and mirth grows dull, 
What harp hath power like her's to lull 

The soul to rest. 
Order quite large — there's none more neat — 
'Tis 7, for it projects a feet ; 

Small Ideality — 
Her visions come in simplest dress, 
And high wrought fancies moye her less 

Than plain reality. 
Combativeness is small — yet still 
Enough she has for stedfast will, 

But not to strive; 
Too gentle, she, to seek a place 
In competition's envious race — 

ril mark her 5. 

Benevolence full. I've seen it start 
The tear that told a kindly heart 

Beat warm within ; 
With qualities like these combined, 
How smooth life's path ! how pure the mind ! 

How free from sin ! 



72 



A SERENADE. 



A SERENADE. 

Come, love, to me, at the silent hour, 
When the moon beams bright above, 

And nought but the bat on the ruined tower, 

Or katydid in her tiny bower. 
May list to our words of love. 

When twinkling stars in the blue expanse 

Like some fairy watchfires glow j 
And shed a light as they leap and dance 
As bright as the gleam of a warrior's lance 
In the gurgling brook below. 

On some mossy bank our seat shall be, 

Where the tender cowslip grows ; 
The owl will flee from the blighted tree. 
When thy merry laugh, so wild and free, 
Shall startle his repose. 

On the balmy air thy lute shall swell 

With its lingering tones of love 
Whose fading echoes will seem to dwell 
In the shadowy nook or flowery dell 
Where fairy spirits rove. 



A SERENADE. 73 



Then come to me at the silent hour, 
When the moon heams bright above, 

And nought but the bat in the ruined tower, 

Or katydid in her tiny bower. 
May list to our words of love. 



74 



TO MART. 



TO MARY. 

Bright as the crimson bhish of summer rose, 
That smiles in beauty from its parent tree, 

Wooing the passing zephyr as it goes 
Laden with fragrance o'er the spicy lea, 

Are the rich tints on Mary's cheeks that glow, 
Expressing in their melting hues 
The pure warm heart below. 

Rich as the wild note that the red-breast flings 
At early morn upon the perfumed breeze. 

When every lingering echo sweetly rings 

In blended cadence with the whispering trees, 

Are Mary's flute-like tones, that seem to start 

A thrill of rapture strange and wild 
In every list'ner's heart. 

Clear as the gem that gleams in regal crown. 

Is the soft lustre of her love-lit eye ; 
And like the snow-flake that comes flickering down 

Undimmed and stainless, from its native sky. 
Is the bright soul, in truth and beauty drest, 
That claims its loveliest, blest abode. 

In Mary's gentle breast. 



I LOVE THE STILL EVENING, 75 



I LOVE THE STILL EVENING. 



I love the still evening! 

It lulleth to rest, 
The world-cares that wander 

By day through the breast. 
How gently it cometh, 

With soft-fanning wings 3 
What joy to the toilworn, 

Its quietness brings. 

I love the still evening ! 

It seems to impart 
A deep sense of devotion 

And peace to the heart ; 
And what lessons are taught us. 

Of wisdom and love, 
By the soft gleaming stars, 

In their archway above. 

I love the still evening ! 

'Tis then are upcast, 
By sweet memory's wand, 

Treasured scenes of the past. 



76 



I LOVE THE STILL EVENING. 



Yes, in winter, or summer, 

Whiche'er it may be, 
The evening-time always 

Is pleasant to me. 

I love the still evening ! 

Our better thoughts stray, 
In the noise, and the glare, 

And excitement of day : 
But the truant's returning, 

How gladly we greet. 
When the evening-time bringeth 

Tranquility sweet. 

I love the still evening ! 

'Tis then for awhile. 
The vain heart may forget 

Its deception and guile. 
Yes, a deep inspiration 

To evening is given. 
To soften our nature — 

To win us to heaven ! 



I 



SWEET GIRL I THINK OF THEE. 77 



SWEET GIRL I THINK OF THEE. 



When sinks the sun "behind the hill, 

And shadows creep from tower and tree, 

And all is still save trickling rill. 
Sweet girl I think of thee. 

Or when in pleasure's halls I stray. 
Whatever I hear — whate'er I see. 

Can lend no charms if thou'rt away. 
Sweet girl I think of thee. 

E'en though I gaze on other forms 
As fair as thine — with hearts as free, 

A brighter spell my bosom warms — 
Sweet girl I think of thee. 

What though upon my listening ear 
Soft accents fall, or words of glee ^ 

My heart is thine ! — thou need'st not fear- 
Sweet girl I think of thee. 

For vainly may their glances dart — 
What is their trembling palms to me ? 

Thy image only fills my heart — 
Sweet girl I think of thee. 



78 



TIME. 



But a few brief days and another year 

In eternity's gulf will fall ; 
The heart must learn, though it thrill with fear, 
As each deed in the pasfs dark wave shines clear. 

That a change cometh overall. 

Time mingleth white in the glossy hair, 

And he saddens the laughing brow, 
And the roses that bloomed so bright and fair 
On beauty's cheeks, no* more are there, — 

They are pallid and sunken now. 

Time ever with noiseless step steals on. 

And he dealeth alike with all ] 
He gives to the palace where beauty shone, 
The creeping vine and the crumbling stone, 

And to man the shroud and pall. 

He causeth the mourner's bitterest tear ; 

Robbeth earth of its truest bliss : 
Full many a form to the heart most dear. 
With sweet music-lips that we loved to hear, 

Has he chilled with his icy kiss. 



79 



On the canvass we gaze with a pleasing thrill 

Or the sculptured stone display ; 
But the warm applause to the artist's skill, 
He hears not now — and his hand is still, 

And crumbling to decay. 

The beggar in rags, and the jewelled brow, — 

The vrise — the rich — the great : 
To the despot's sceptre must surely bow — 
Must bear the marks of his furrowing plough, 

Must meet the unchanging fate. 

Yet lessons of wisdom we still may learn, 

From the past and the grave's green sod 
And though sorrow o'erfloweth the heart's cold urn. 
All chastened and soothed the spirit will turn, 
To duty— to faith— to God ! 



80 



LINES TO MISS C. M. E. 



LINES TO MISS C. M. B., 

O F ROCHESTER. 

Cousin ! a charm dwells in the word, 

'Tis music to the ear ; 
The magic tones of the summer bird, 
Whose strains mid leafy boughs are heard, 

Fall not more sweet and dear. 

And yet we both are strangers coz, 

We ne'er have even met ; 
Our homes are cast far, far apart. 
Thy absence ne'er could in my heart, 

Awake one sad regret. 

The blind may hear how bright the orb. 

On which he ne'er can gaze; 
But cannot feel, in endless night, 
What exstacy one moment's sight, 

To view his golden rays ! 

They tell me of thy gentle heart, 

So pure — so free from guile; 
What sunny gleams thy glances dart, 
The joy thy presence can impart, — 

The sweetness of thy smile. 



LINES TO MISS C. M. B. 81 

And busy fancy oft displays 

Thine imago to my view ] 
But still I hope to hear thy voice, 
And in thy beaming smiles rejoice — 

So dearest coz — adieu ! 



82 



THE INVITATION. 



THE INVITATION. 



Oh come, sweet maiden, forth with me. 

The evening flower has blown ; 
And calmly smiles the queen of night, 
And the azure arch is rich with light 
Of glistening stars, more pure and bright 
Than gems on a monarch's throne. 



Soft moonlight streams upon the plain, 

The grain is waving free ; 
The breeze a balmy fragrance brings, 
Bright insects float on silken wings, 
In secret nook the cricket sings, 

Its little song of glee. 

How sweetly fall at such an hour 

The low-toned words of love ; 
The eyes with deeper rapture meet, 
And throbbing hearts more fondly beat, 
And love's close kiss is still more sweet, 
When stars are bright above. 



THE INVITATION. 83 



Then come dear maiden forth with me, 

The evening flower has blown; 
And calmly smiles the queen of night, 
And the azure sky is rich with light 
Of gleaming stars, more pure and bright 
Than gems on a monarch's throne. 



84 



LINES TO 



LINES TO 



Sweet girl, 'tis not because thine eyes, like diamonds, 

sparkle bright, 
Nor yet thy fair and faultless form, or footsteps free and 

light : 
Nor silvery voice which sweetly falls, as music on mine 

ear; 
It is not these, alone, that chain my thoughts when thou 

art near. 

A bright, bewitching smile is thine, which, like some 

heavenly beam, 
Hath power to dispel the gloom, that clouds life's fitful 

dream ] 
Yet radiant beawty's winning charms, all potent though 

they be, 
Could not, alone, have wrought the spell which binds my 

heart to thee. 

A spell whoso influence is so sweet, it reigns within my 

breast, 
Imparting joys, all pure and soft as sunset in the west ; 
And like that sun, when it hath sunk below the horizon's 

bound. 
Thy absence leaves a loveliness, and darkness gathers 

round. 



85 



Love, oftentimes, doth heedless pass the treasures of the 

mind, 
To dwell where beauty charms alone ] hut thou hast 

both combined ; 
It is thy modest mien, and guileless heart, sweet girl, I 

prize 
Far, far above thy voice, or form, or sunshine of thine eyes. 

O, may the gloomy cares of life remain vmknown to thee, 
Bnt in thy bosom ever dwell bright hopes and lightsome 

glee 5 
And, like the evening star, which shines unchangeable 

above, . 
Shed gladness round, and turn onr hearts to happiness 

and love. 



A maiden's love. 



A MAIDEN'S LOVE. 



As the night's gentle queen, who sits calmly above, 
With her bright-eyed attendants all glittering near; 
And smiles on the earth from her region of love, 

While her light o'er its bosom gleams brightly and clear : 
Is that angel-like fair one, so trusting and fond, 
Whose hearts deep-toned feelings in silence respond 
To that heart in whose music her spirit finds rest, 
While the torch of the boy-god burns pure in her breast. 

And like the faint beams that illumine the sky. 

When night's sable curtain rolls slowly away ; 
And the tree-tops are crowned with a deep golden dye. 

And dew-drops are glistening like gems on the spray ; 
Are the blushes of love, when that fond maiden's eyes 
Have betrayed the emotion her fear would disguise ; 
And the soul-thrilling passion her hps dared not speak. 
Is at last all revealed on her crimsoning cheek ! 

And like some sweet brook that hath burst o'er its bounds. 
When the soft showers of summer have swollen its tides, 
Till its bright waters rush in low murmuring sounds. 
Enriching the vale through whose bosom it glides : 
Is the full gush of feeling which pours from her heart, 
When her high-heaving breast tells the thrill and the smart. 
And burst from her lips sweet confessions of bliss, 
To be sealed in deep rapture by love's glowing kiss ! 



87 



IRENE. 



As dew to the meadow, 

Or the flower to the bee, 
Or the bird to the greenwood, 

So thou art to me. 

The meadow-grass fadeth 

'Neath the day-god's bright reign 
But the dew of the evening 

Brings freshness again. 

On rapid wing speedeth 

The rambling bee, 
To the nectar-fraught flower 

That grows on the lea. 

'Mid the gloom of the greenwood, 

How sweet to the ear 
The robin's soft melody, 

Plaintive and clear. 

As dew to the meadow. 
Or the flower to the bee. 

Or the bird to the greenwood, 
Art thou, love, to me. 



When thou art beside me 
My heart groweth light j 

But, oh, in thy absence 
Come shadows of night. 

Ever blight is thine image, 

In memory's ray ; 
It blesseth my slumbers, 

It haunts me by day. 

Thy soft hand — in dreams — 
Is oft clasped in mine own, 

While my ear is entranced 
With thy tremulous tone. 

Sweet spirit of gladness, 

May care never dart 
One cankering arrow. 

To rust in thy heart I 

For thy thoughts are fresh flowers 
Of goodness and love — 

Ever shedding sweet fragrance 
That mounteth above. 

The whole world to thy vision 

Is cheerful and bright ; 
For thy breast has no sorrow. 

Thy memory no blight. 



LINES TO ELIZABETH. 



May God in his wisdom 
All blessings bestow; 

While his angels flit o'er thee^ 
On pinions of snow. 

Sweet spirit of gladness, 

May care never dart 
One cankering arrow, 

To rust in thy heart I 



LINES TO ELIZABETH. 



Oh ! may thy years roll gently on, 

As one long summer's day : 
While Faith's bright torch illumes thy breast, 

With clear and fadeless ray ! 

As fall the leaves of some sweet rose, 

Stirred by the evening's blast : 
May thy blest moments gently close, 

When life's fair scenes are past I 



90 



THE BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS. 



THE BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS. 

Who loves not to gaze on the beautiful flowers, 

As thej burst forth in every bright hue ! 
Whether sunbeams glance hot or the thunder cloud 

lowers — 
In the glen, in the field, or in sheltering bowers. 

Still, still are they lovely and true ! 
Sweet emblems are they of our life's early years. 

When the world seems a garden of truth: 
And we think the warm showers some angel's bright 

tears, 
When^each drop like a gem in the sunshine appears ; 

Oh ! how blest are those dreams of our youth ! 
But storms have come since, and dark wintry hours — 

And bright hopes have withered and fled ; 
We find that stern Time takes not only the flowers. 
For we ask for the friends we so loved to call ours. 

And are told that they sleep with the dead ! 
But summer still comes with its warm sunny smile. 

To call up the bright flowers again : 
And the balm-bearing breezes once more shall beguile 
Our loitering footsteps, and song-birds the while 

Will pour forth their welcoming strain. 



THE BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS. 91 

And shall not the dark grave then be made to resign 

Those forms 'twas a blessing to love 1 
Oh, no ! the cold body its walls must enshrine, 
But the soul ! the free soul ! it can never confine ;, 

It shines with its Maker above ! 

Then while for the lost ones we shed the hot tear, 

We must joy that their troubles are o'er; 
Though they may not, like flowers, revisit us here, 
We shall join them above in that happier sphere, 
Where no sorrow can trouble us more ! 



'I 



92 



LOVE. 



Love ! what is Love ? in vrhat doth it consist, 
Its attributes how strange — how undefined; 

Like sunbeams streaming through the morning mist, 

It bursts upon the enraptured sense 
And wakes the slumbering mind. 

It hath a charm which sweetly lulls to rest 

The fitful storms of life's tempestuous sea ] 
'Tis strongest felt in youth's confiding breast. 
When heart hath happily met with heart 
As warm — as pure — as free. 

Love, when returned, doth own a magic power, , 

We bless the thraldom, while we feel the smart : — 

But sharper pangs come not in death's dark hour, 

Than those which unrequited love 
Strike through the withering heart. 



i 



COME TO THE JOYOUS HALL. 93 



COME TO THE JOYOUS HALL. 

Air-Hewett's Quick Step. 

Come, come, to the joyous hall, 
List to the strains of music fall, 
Speed, speed, 'tis Pleasure's call ; 

Come to the joyous hall ! 
Oh, come ! where all is bright and gay, 
Chase, chase, all thoughts of care away, — 
'Tis Pleasure's call, we must obey, 

Come to the joyous hall! 

When the day gives place to the silent night. 
And the sky with stars is gleaming bright. 
To the gorgeous scene we greet you with a smile. 
And pleasure shall the passing hours beguile ; 
Bright chandeliers are shedding lustre round. 
Light hearts are beating to the music's sound, 
Upon the walls the painter's magic art appears, 
To please the eye, while music charms the ears, 
Come, come, to the joyous hall ! 
List to the strains of music fall. 
Speed, speed, 'tis Pleasure's call, 
Come to the joyous hall ! 



94 



THE GIPSEY LASS. 



THE GIPSEY LASS. 



Oh, I am a gipsey lass ! 

And happier none can be ', 
As^gaily I trip o'er the grass, 

My heart bounding lightly and free ', 
I care not for power nor wealth, 

Nor the scorn of the proud do I fear, 
But blest with contentment and health, 

I laugh when the heartless jeer. 

For I am a gipsey lass, ha! ha! 
I am a gipsey lass ! 



A child of the forest am I, 

And wander wherever I please j 
The roof of our home is the sky, 

And its walls are the rustling trees ; 
We've a carpet that never wears out, 

'Tis a bright and a beautiful green, 
With wild flowers peeping about, — 

Oh, a prettier never was seen. 

Yes, I am a gipsey lass, ha ! ha 1 
I am a gipsey lass ! 



THE GIPSEY LASS. 



95 



'Tis true, I am careless and wild, — 

But still I would have you to know. 
That the heart of the gipsey child 

Can melt at the story of wo : 
The traveller sues not in vain, 

But freely our viands may share, 
While I sing some wild gipsey strain, 

To lull the dark moments of care. 

For I am a gipsey lass, ha ! ha ! 
I am a gipsey lass ! 

When heaven's bright lantern is litj — 

Reflecting its rays on the hill, 
Sweet thoughts o'er my fancy will flit — 

Sweet thoughts that can never be still; 
Of the youth that my bosom holds dear, — 

The pride of our gipsey band ! — 
Whose heart is a stranger to fear, 

And to whom I have given my hand. 
For I am a gipsey lass, ha ! ha ! 
J am a gipsey lass ! 



i 



96 



ANOTHER YEAR HAS PASSED AWAY. 



ANOTHER YEAR HAS PASSED AWAY. 



" I saw the leaves gliding down a brook, 
Swift the brook ran, and bright the sun burned ; 
The sere and the verdant, the same course they took, 
And sped gail}^ and fast but they never returned ; 
And I thought how the years of a man pass away, — 
Three score and ten — and then where are they 1" 



Another year has passed away ! — 

How solemn is the thought, 
That earthly knowledge stili must be 

By stern experience taught ; — 
And life at best a devious path, 
With lurking evils fraught. — 
Strange that the heart can e'er be gay ! — 
Another year has rolled away. 

The joy-lit eye is sadder grown ; 

And deep'ning lines declare, 
Upon the fading cheek, that Time 

Has not been idle there ; 
And e'en the iris hues of Hope, 
A paler lustre wear — 
Hark — the shrill winds ! they seem to say 
" Another year has passed away !" 

Another year has passed away — 
How many a gladsome brow, 

That smiling hailed its first-born day. 
Is cold and pulseless now : — 



ANOTHER YEAR HAS PASSED AWAY. 97 



And Care in many a face hath graved, 
The furrows of his plough. — 
Hark ! the shrill wiudss ! they seem to say 
" Another year has passed away !" 

How many a changeful scene hath been, 

Of mingled joy and wo; 
Alternate sunshine, cloud, and storm, 

Life's tarnished pages show 3 
The heart grows sad when thoughts like these, 
Dark shadows o'er it throw, — 
Hark ! 'tis the blast ! it seems to say 
" Another year has passed away !" 

A year hath fled ! Oh let us not 

Suppress the rising throe, 
If memory shall the mis-spent past, 

In startling colors show ; — 
But search the vain heart's depths, and seek 
Its hidden springs to know : — 
Shun Folly's path — seek Wisdom's ray! 
"Another year hath passed away !" 



98 



LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 



LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 



How piercing are the bosom's pangs, what rushing me- 
mories crowd, 
When Death enwraps some well-loved form within its 

icy shroud ! 
Oh ! 'tis a bitter thing to know our ear no more may 

greet 
The fond familiar tones, that made life's music flow so 
sweet. 
What words can tell the soul's deep sadness — 

How drear und dark the world appears ; 

The sunny smiles that danced in gladness 

Are drowned in Sorrow's burning tears. 

Yet when a few brief years roll past, these dark afflic- 
tions seem. 
But as the grief-fraught visions of a scarce remembered 
dream. 

And we onward glide, 
Down Pleasure's tide, 
Plucking the flowers 
Of Joy and Pride. 

And, oh ! when first an unkind word upon the startled 

ear 
Comes, from the lips of those we hold of all the world 

most dear, 



LIGHTS AND SHADOWS. 99 



What agony— what heaving throes, throughout the bo- 
som dart, 
The world can yield no balsam then, to soothe the 
wounded heart! 
But if Remorse, in anguish pleading, 

Should woo us to forgive, in vain, 
Then as we turn aside unheeding. 
Scorn may snap Love's brittle chain. 

Oh! then Hope's sweetest flowers must droop, that 
cheered us in their bloom. 

And Pride will strew their blighted leaves upon Affec- 
tion's tomb. 

But if those tears 

Plead not in vain, 
Hope's drooping flowers 

May smile again. 

And what are all these cares at best but as the shades 
that show 

More brightly still, the pleasing tints, that on life's can- 
vass glow ; 

They come like dark and envious clouds that cross the 
moon's soft ray ; 

Dimming the light, that beams as bright when they have 
passed away ! 



100 



THE PRETTY FLOWER GIRL. 



THE PRETTY FLOWER GIRL. 



'Tis I'm the little Flower Girl, 

Sweet gentlefolks come buy, I pray. 

Oh ! could I boast of gem or pearl, 
My heart like yours were gay. 

I view the sun's declining rays, 
With heavy heart and tearful eye, 

As wandering through the city's maze 
My pretty flowers I cry ! 

Before our lonely cottage gate, 

With eager watch each fading day, 

Does little .brother fondly wait 
My home returning way. 

Though dark my lot and coarse my fare, 
A stranger to the joys of wealth, 

'Twere wrong to pine while I still share 
The blooming prize of health. 

How oft while on my weary round, 
I hear the gay piano's sound. 

While happy hearts so lightly bound. 
Enraptured with the spell ! 



THE PRETTY FLOWER GIRL. 101 

Still, their joys I'll envy not, 

But strive to bear my humble lot, 
My heart is in our simple cot, 

Where sweeter pleasures dwell. 
'Tis I'm the little flower girl, 

Sweet gentle folks come buy, I pray, 
Oh ! could I boast of gem or pearl, 

My heart like yours were gay. 



102 



THE SNUFF-COLORED DEVIL. 



THE SNUFF-COLORED DEVIL. 



All gloomy damp was the dungeon hall, 
Black cobwebs hung down like a funeral pall, 
And forty-foots crawled on the slimy ground. 
And ghosts and hobgoblins stood grinning around. 
There were goblins jet black, and griffins pea green,- 
While some were decked off in silvery sheen ; 
But, oh ! 'twas a startling sight to behold 
One snuff-colored demon, with talons of gold. 
Oh ! the dark dungeon so drear. 
Oh ! the snuff-colored devil so queer. 

A strange object was there — held a fork oddly shaped. 
Its jaws were extended, its claws newly scraped 3 
One poor spring-halted croaker it marked for its prey, 
Snatched it up in its talons, and vanished away. 
There was one little devil — a favorite imp — 
Its left leg was broken — it walked with a limp • 
Which the snuff-colored devil no sooner did spy — 
Put its thumb to its nose, and kept squinting its eye, 
Oh ! the dark dungeon so drear, &c. 

Now, what do you guess little broken-leg done ? 
Do you ' go for to think' that he took it for fun ? 
No ! Devils, like men, no insult will brook : 
It returned a most demon-like, combatting look. 



THE SNUFF-COLORED DEVIL. 103 

Then the snuff-colored devil, with furious bound, 
Vaulted high in the air — turned a somerset round — 
On the favorite lit like the lightning's swift flash : — 
Their eyes shoot red fire — their white grinders gnash. 

Oh! the dark dungeon so drear, &c. 
Then a dense cloud of smoke — a sulphurous smell — 
A terrible struggle — a piercing yeH — 
The snuff-colored imp has lost both of his ears. 
But its cries are now drowned by the demon's loud cheers. 
At length they both ceased, their strength to regain; 
Their groans long and loud, told of terrible pain. 
The demons stood round, highly pleased with the fray ; 
Such fighting they'd not seen for many a day. 

Oh! the dark dungeon so drear. &c. 

Now, the strife is renewed, more fierce than before. 
And life's dark red current made slippery the floor ; 
And the dungeon's dark caverns with yells did resound 
Of the demons in glee who were standing around. 
Then was heard a loud scream, and with agonized bound 
The little one writhed on the shppery ground ; — 
A pitchfork was planted deep, deep in its eyes, 
And the cavern rang loud with its piercing cries. 
Oh ! the dark dungeon so drear, &c. 

All was still for a moment, when sudden did swell 
On my ears a long, terrible, deafening yell : 
'Twas the yell of the vanquished, as upwards he cast 
On his victor one grim look of scorn — 'twas his last ; 



104 



THE SNUFF-COLORED DEVIL. 



That victor gazed on him, 'mid howling and moan, 
Then snatching him, vanished to regions unknown. 
Oh ! the dark dungeon so drear, 
Oh ! the snuff-colored devil so queer. 

From sleep started I, at the morning's bright beam, 
Yet could scarcely believe that 'twas nought but a dream. 



ABOUT SOMEBODY. 105 



ABOUT SOMEBODY. 

1 know a bright and joyous girl. 

Ah ! yes, indeed ! 
With dentals of the purest pearl ; 

You'd best believe it ! 
A gentle, kind, and lovesome thing, 
With breath as sweet as breezes bring, 
From spicy islands in the spring ; 

You'd best believe it ! 

She moves as graceful as the fawn; 

Ah ! yes, indeed ! 
Her smile is like the rosy dawn \ 

You'd best believe it ! 
Such glances in her dark eyes dwell, 
As e'en a stoic's breast might swell 
With ardent throbs ; — so deep their spell ; 

You'd best believe it ! 

Her lightest word with sense is fraught, 

Ah ! yes, indeed ! 
From wisdom's brain-lit altar caught ; 

You'd best believe it ! 
No speech than her's more sweet and bland : 
And then the pressure of her hand, 
The man were marble could withstand; 

You'd best believe it ! 



106 



ABOUT SOMEBODY. 



Her name is 



but I fear to tell, 



Ah ! yes, indeed ! 
For blabbing that I'd catch it well ; 

You'd best believe it ! 
Small feet are her's as e'er I knew, 
Encased in such a dainty shoe ! — 
The Cinderella number two; 

You'd best believe it ! 

Her hair is dark as midnight sea, 

Ah ! yes, indeed ! 
Her tones are full; her manners free: 

Youd best believe it ! 
And though so sly her glances dart, 
They ne'er were trained by subtle art ;— 
But speak the language of her heart ; 

You'd best believe it ! 
Her red lips are like roses fair, 

Ah ! yes, indeed ! 
Flinging their fragrance on the air 

You'd best believe it ! 
And then the mutual thrill — the bliss 
That lieth in their clinging kiss ! 
Earth hath no joy more sweet than this, 

You'd best believe it ! 



THE SONGSTRESS. 107 



THE SONGSTRESS. 

Thy song throughout the festive hall, 

Rang joyously and free ; 
And many a heart was held in thrall, 
As each soft cadence seemed to fall 

In matchless melody. 

Oh ! did those notes of joy find rest, 
Sweet songstress, in thy panting breast ? 
Or doth that spirit-stirring tone 
Cheer every heart but thine alone % 

Thy song oft tells of lovely things, 

Of lands all bright and fair. 
Of sparkling streams, of bending trees. 
Where through their boughs the playful breeze 

Flings music on the air. 

These song-fraught fancies, do they dart 
In rays of gladness through thy heart '? 
Or come they but as lights that gleam 
At midnight in a fevered dream. 



log 



THE SONGSTRESS. 



Thy thrilling notes at times gush forth, 

Like waters murmuring low j 
Then eddying round they sweetly steal, 
In quivering tones that ill conceal 

Thy bosom's secret woe. 

Ah ! hast thou learned how false the crowd, 
Who fling the wreath 'mid plaudits loud ? 
Oh ! heed them not ! — seek virtue's gem ! 
It shines in truth's bright diadem. 

Then, when thesor scenes have rolled away. 

And life's sad dream is passed, 
That priceless gem will cast a ray, 
To light thee on thine upward way, 

To blissful peace at last. 

Oh ! then how clear thy tones will peal, 
Around that throne where angels kneel } 
Thou'lt bless the path thy feet have trod — 
The ray that drew thee to thy God. 



ii 



ESTRANGEMENT. 109 



ESTRANGEMENT.. 

Oh ! I did not deem, that the sunny stream 

Of Love could e'er have dried ; — 
But fondly thought, when Fancy brought 

Sweet music on its tide, 
That Hope's young dreams, like heavenly beams. 

Bright heralds were of bliss ; 
Foretelling joy, without alloy, 

In every burning kiss. 

And Memory still, awakes a thrill 

Though the eye withholds a tear j 
For the lonely heart can never part 

With thoughts it once held dear ; 
They come at times, in fitful chimes, 

Those relics of the past, 
With visions fair, enwrapt in air, 

Too beautiful to last ! 

How oft at night, when the skies were bright. 

And all was sweet repose. 
And fairies strayed in moonlit glade, 

And zephyrs kissed the rose, 



110 



ESTRANGEMENT. 



We have sought afar, in the fairest star 

'Mid all that gleamed on high, 
Our blissful home, where ills ne'er come, 

And love can never die ! 

And the merry glance of hope would dance 

In thy soft beaming eyes. 
As I pictured bright, in the silent night, 

Our mansion in the skies ! 
When fondly there, 'mid scenes so fair, 

We traced our future lot, 
The world's dark snares and withering cares, 

That hour, were all forgot ! 

And every sigh, far, far on liigh. 

Seemed borne on Angel's wings; 
To mingle there, all pure and fair, 

With bright and lovely things ! 
The dream is past, a cloud has cast 

Its shadow on my brow, 
The fount is dried of that rippling tide — 

There is no music now. 



I 



ON THE DEATH OF HENRY INMAN. 



Ill 



ON THE DEATH OF HENRY INMAN. 



" True indeed it is. 
That they whom death hath hidden from our sight, 
Are worthiest of the mind's regard, with them 
The future cannot contradict the past." 



Great artist, is it thus ! hath death's cold hand 
Been rudely pressed upon thy noble brow ! 

We miss thy presence 'mid the gifted band, 
And yearning genius mourns thy absence now. 
Forever gone ! 

What though no more this earth thy step may know 1 
Within our hearts thy memory still will dwell, 

While many a pictured hall shall proudly show 
Enduring tokens of thy mystic spell, 
Forever bright ! 

By thee no more the canvass wakes to life ; 

The hand creative, cold and nerveless lies : — 
Kind heaven hath called thee from this world of strife, 

To rove in lovelier scenes beyond the skies ; 
Forever blest ! 



112 



ACROSTIC. 



ACROSTIC. 



Joys pure as sinless angels know, sweet girl are surely 
thine ) 

U nited in thy gentle breast dwell Love and Truth divine : 

L ike the soft zephyrs balmy breath, is heard thy tremb- 
ling sigh,— 

1 1 seems to float from earth to find its angel home on 
high, 

A spirings nobler far than oft to earthly forms are given, 

R eside blest inmates of thy heart, to lead thee on to 
heaven. 

I nstinctive modesty, and grace, thy slightest action shows; 

No angry storms e'er cloud the calm thy peaceful bo- 
som knows. 

G old cannot buy life's truest joys, a conscience free 
from sin ; 

W ant, care and misery from the heart that treasure 
cannot win. 

O'er thy sweet face is cast a charm, a radiance soft and 
mild, — 

rdained by heaven that all might know 

D evotion's loveliest child ! 



LOVE IN CONTRASTS. 



113 



LOVE IN CONTRASTS. 



My love for thee is not the flower 

That flaunteth in some painted bower, *l 

To yield when autumn tempests lower, 

Its short and feeble life. 
But oh, 'tis like the enduring tree, 
That waves its leafy boughs in glee , — 
Or braves with dauntless heart and free, 

The tempest's raging strife. 
My love is not the pool that lies 
In sluggish mood 'neath murky skies, 
Where no bright shapes of beauty rise 

To break its silent sleep. 
But oh, His like the ocean true, 
That mirrors in its bosom blue, 
The smiling cloud that bends to woo. 

With glances warm and deep. 
My love for thee is not the gleam, 
That danceth in some rippling stream, 
To cheer awhile with fickle beam, 

Then fade at last away. 
But oh, 'tis like the flames that rise, 
From sacred altars to the skies 
When priests make holy sacrifice, 

So fervent is its ray ! 



114 



SONNET TO JULIE. 



SONNET TO JULIE. 



Thou art devotion's goddess, maiden dear ; 
Thy accents wake the music-chords of love 
Within the list'ners breast ; bright forms above, 

Look down in smiles and bless thee. Pure and clear 

As some sweet rippling streamlet gliding by, 
Thy peaceful hours pass on ; no darkling cloud 
Of passion ever dims thy soul's clear sky — 

Whose heavenly radiance sparkles in thine eye. 

Thou seekest not among the flaunting crowd — 
The world's vain devotees— for life's true joy ;— 
But with religion's earnest faith endowed, 

Thy hopes are placed above, where no alloy 
Of hate, nor envy, sorrow, sin, nor care. 
Nor pain, nor death, shall ever enter there ! 



CAROLINE. 



115 



CAROLINE. 



There is something half of earth- 
And something half divine, 

That seems to dance 

In the witching glance 
Of bright-eyed Caroline. 

What sunshine and what shade, 
O'er her lovely features play; 

First, frowns beguile — 

Then comes a smile 
To chase the frowns away. 

A magic sweetness dwells 
Upon her sun-lit face — 

For gloom, nor care, 

Ne'er trespassed there. 
To mar its native grace. 

There's mischief in the curls 
That shade her blushing cheek- 

And her lips so bright, 

Your kiss invite. 

As plain a^ lips can speak — 

But heed them not — beware ! 
Her heart to one is true ; 



116 



CAROLINE. 



No other's kiss 
May know the bliss, 

To sip their nectarous dew ; 

And should you rashly dare, 

Their precincts to invade — 
Your smarting cheek. 
Would more than speak, 

The losing game you played. 

So ! better be content, 
• The precious fruit to view : 
Than have the pains 
Without the gains, 

And catch a whipping; too. 

Sweet Carry ! may thy days, 
Like music glide along — 

And no rude jar 

Of discord mar 

The cadence of thy song. 



LINES TO JULIA. 117 



LINES TO JULIA. 



Oh ! could my heart its wish fulfil, 

How bright thy days should be ) 
As smoothly gliding as the bark 

Upon a stormless sea. 
No darkling clouds of passion, e'er 

Should mar thy peaceful hours ; 
Whilst in thy breast sweet thoughts should dwell, 

As birds in eastern bowers. 

Life lies before thee, gentle maid. 

All lovely to thy view ; 
And dazzling Pleasure culls for thee 

Bright flowers of every hue : — 

But oh ! with careless hand too oft 

She plucks those treasures fair ; — 
Nor views amid the leaves the Asp 

Of Disappointment there. 

Then learn, sweet maid, that pleasure's gifts 
Though ne'er so bright their gleam, 

Luring the heart with many a spell, 
Are fleeting as a dream. 



118 



LINES TO JULIA. 



But see ! where Faith, the Angel, stands 

In robes of spotless white ; — 
With hand upraised, she pointeth far 

To realms of fadeless light. 

She bids thee place thy trust in Him 
Who made air, earth and sea ; 

And who alone from Error's snares. 
Can guide thy spirit free. 

To mortal minds it is not given 

Their destiny to know, — 
For could we but Fate's shadows view, 

Life's joys would turn to woe. 

But Hope ! sweet Hope, still lingers near. 

To soothe the fainting heart, 
She hath a word for every fear, 

A balm for every smart. 

Life is made up of Joy and Grief, 
Earth seems not always bright. 

And they are happiest who can view 
God's purposes aright ! 



ALIENATED AFFECTION. 119 



ALIENATED AFFECTION. 



The stars are peering calmly down, the moon is beam- 
ing bright, 

And hand in hand, two lovers stand, beneath her pen- 
sive light ; 

And like some pure and sunny stream, time sweetly 
seems to glide, 

Bearing along their heart-born song, upon its onward tide. 

They gaze upon that gentle moon, with eyes that fondly 
gleam, 

While every thought, with passion fraught, is chastened 
by her beam ; 

Strong is the gushing tide of bliss that swells their bo- 
soms high — 

Joy lives in every burning kiss, Hope breathes in every 
sigh . 

Surpassing fair the charms that shon^upon the maiden's 

face, 
And his the form a sculptor's hand might well be proud 

to trace : 
The maiden's ear drank sweetly in the gentle words he 

spoke. 
While fondly on his breast she hung like ivy round the oak. 
Earth seemed to them a paradise, a land of fadeless bliss : 
While Hope her net more closely wove in every thrilling 



120 



ALIENATED AFFECTION. 



Joy's golden cup is brimming o'er, the cares of life forgot. 
And e'en the future shadows forth a bright and happy 

lot. 
No vows were made, no formal vows, so well the lovers 

knew, 
That words of faith were needless all, with hearts so 

warm and true ] 
The meeting lips, the close embrace, the long and deep 

drawn sigh. 
Gave to their souls a fonder pledge than words can e'er 

imply. 
A few short months have circled past — the stars still 

gleam as true — 
Again the floweret's leaves are bright with gems of spark- 
ling dew ; 
The faithful moon is casting o'er the earth her cheering 

ray — 
But oh ! those food and trusting ones — the lovers, where 

are they % 

Alas ! alas ! for earthly hopes, how transient are they all ! 

Upon their hearts estrangement cold hath cast a cheer- 
less pall ! 

The buds of love and hope have died upon the withered 
stem — 

And though that moon still sweetly smiles, it smiles no 
more for them. 



THE maiden's remorse. 121 



THE MAIDEN'S REMORSE. 

Shall they, who cause so many bitter tears to flow, shed none 
themselves V 

I join with the gay and glittering throng, 
In the merry dance and the cheerful song; 
And a smile at times on my brow will play, 
Lighting it up with a transient ray ; 
But joys v,^hich once my spirit bound. 
Weave vainly now their spells around, 
And though the smile may seem of gladness, 
It but conceals my bosojn's sadness ! 
Where is the hand whose touch could dart 
A thrill of transport through my heart 1 
The voice, whose music's soothing swell 
Upon mine ears so sweetly fell ? 
They are absent now ! and a cloud of gloom 
Steals o'er my soul, in the festive room : 
That voice is stilled — the spell is broken. 
By words my reckless lips have spoken ! 
Oh ! could he read my soul's unrest — 
Knew he the pangs that rend my breast — 
Then, then, that heedless word and tone, 
Which dimmed the star of love that shone 
Around my path with its cheering light, 
Shrouding it o'er with the gloom of night — 
Were all forgot ! and the star's bright ray 
Once more might gleam on my clouded way. 



122 



THE UNSLEEPING EYE. 



THE UNSLEEPING EYE. 



There is an eye that never sleeps! — 
That o'er the world its vigil keeps, 
From yonder arching sky : 

Amid the blaze of noonday light, 
Or in the darkling shades of night, 
Still peers that sleepless eye ! 

Clear to its vision — oh ! how clear ! 
Those deeply hidden thoughts appear, 
The features would deny ; 

There's not an impulse e'er can start, 
Of good or evil in the heart, 
But meets that watchful eye. 

The wretch, all trembling, seeks some spot, 
To form, unseen, his guilty plot; 
No human footstep by; 

Yet though from mortal gaze concealed. 
Each deed, each thought, lies all revealed 
Beneath that haunting eye ! 



1 



THE UNSLEEPING EYE. 123 



In lowly cot — or palace gay — 
Or o'er the seas, far, far away 
Its glance is ever nigh : 

Then, oh ! thou wretch ! with crime imbued, 
Fly where thou wilt, thou'll ne'er elude, 
That keen and searching eye ! 



124 



THE FINE OLD MAIDEN I.ADY. 



THE FINE OLD MAIDEN LADY. 



I'll sing you, folks, a little song, that cannot well be 

beat, 
Of a fine old maiden lady, who resided in our street ; 
And she was a kind, good humored soul, as one could 

wish to meet. 
And dearly loved her dogs and cats, which played about 

her feet. 
For she was a fine old maiden lady, one of the present 

time. 

Her little room was hung around, with ribbons, caps, 

and bows. 
And little shelves of china ware, which met misfortune's 

blows. 
There in her old arm chair she'd sit, and ftill into a doze. 
While the teazing flies would buzz about her fine old 

ruby nose. 
For she was a fine old maiden lady, &c. 

One little yellow dog she loved, much more than all the 

rest, 
Which ate from off its mistress' plate whatever pleased 

it best; 



THE FINE OLD MAIDEN LADY. 125 



And twice a day she used to wash her darling little pet, 
And bought eye-water for its eyes, which were the black- 
est jet; 
For she was a fine old maiden lady, &c. 
At last one day her pet was missed, she searched the 

city through, 
In all the daily papers, large rewards were offered too ', 
Described exactly how he looked, his color, and his eyes — 
In grief she wandered round the house, with tears and 

heavy sighs. 
For she was a fine old maiden lady, &c. 
Three tedious days had slowly passed, no tidings met 

her ear, 
This fine old maid was failing fast, for nothing now 

could cheer ; 
For she would neither eat, nor drink, nor sleep, nor stay 

awake. 
Oh I she sobbed so for her little pet, you'd think her 
._, heart would break, 
For she was a fine old maiden lady, &c. 
But Time's kind hand will soon blot out the sharpest 

pangs of grief. 
Before a week had circled o'er she felt a great relief! 
She walked once more before her door, her slumbers 

were more sweet. 
Her appetite again returned, oh, dear ! how she could 

eat; 
For she was a fine old maiden lady, &c. 



126 



THE FINE OLD MAIDEN LADY 



This maiden had two gossip friends with whom she loved 
to chat, 

They had just stopped in to talk of news, of this aflfair 
and that ; 

Perhaps to tell of green ones caught in wedlock's gall- 
ing net ; 

But this old maiden's absent thoughts were always on her 
pet; 
For she was a fine old maiden lady, &c. 

The feast prepared, now down they sat, their tongues 

ran fast and free, 
Their left hands held a piece of pie, their right a cup of 

tea, 
The tea was strong and highly praised, the pie could not 

be beat, 
For she bought it of a baker man, ^'^ what sold ''em'''' in the 

street ] 
For she was a fine old maiden lady, &c. 

Then all at once these ladies thought it tasted kind of 

queer. 
Each one upon the other looked, and turned quite pale 

in fear ; 
The fine old maiden lady screamed, and fainted on the 

floor, 
They raised her up to give her air, and opened wide the 

door; 
For she was a fine old maidon lady, &c, 



THE FINE OLD MAIDEN LADY. 



127 



'Twas plain to see her time was come, she grew so very 

weak, 
Three times she pointed to the pie, and vainly tried to 



She opened wide her jaws in death— oh ! what a sight 

was there ! 
They saw the blue silk ribbon that her puppy used to 
wear; 
For she was a fine old maiden lady, &c. 

They laid her in the cold, cold ground, while tears be- 

dimmed then* eyes, 
The coroner's verdict was, she died from eating puppy 

pies : 
And now her ghost is often seen, slow stalking through 

the land ; 
And a monstrous piece of mince-meat pie, clutched 
tightly in the hand, 
Of this fine old maiden lady, all of the present time. 



128 



LIFE, DEATH, AKD IMMORTALITY. 



LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY. 



1 Cor. XV. 49. — And as we have borne the image of the earthy, 
so shall we also bear the image of the heavenly. 

O'er the swift waters of Time's ceaseless tide, 
By pleasure gladdened or by pain oppressed — 
Alike in storm, or calm, we onward glide, 
To find in Death's cold arms at last, 

Our only earthly rest. 
Dark and repulsive doth the grave appear ; 
No blessed sun-ray cheers its lonely hall ', 
The tones of loved ones fall not on the ear, — 
Though many an anguished sob Ibreaks forth, 

And scalding tear-drops fall. 

The sun, the birds, the flowers — all blessed things, 
That gave delight in Nature's bounteous store. 
Can ne'er unseal the eye, or start the springs 
Of gladness in the pulseless heart 

Whose fever-throbs are o'er. 
Time pausetli not ! still flows his tide along ; — 
Joy's sparkling beams his waters gaily light; 
Pleasure allures us with her siren song, 
And we forget that Life's bright day 

Must fade in clouded night. 



LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY. 



129 



Wealth's glittering baubles tempt our worldly gaze ; 
Love, fame, ambition, weave their potent charms, 
Gilding life's current with their transient rays — 
But, oh ! they cannot stay its course j 
Or loose Death's stony arms. 

In his dark dwelling gold availeth not : — 
Love doth not enter there with fond caress j 
Fame, pride, ambition, all shall be forgot, 
And worms will revel on the lips 
Affection loved to press. 

Oh ! hath the trembling soul no star to dart 
A ray that will endure throughout the gloom ? 
Yes! 'tis Religion ! dark must be that heart 
That sees no glimmering light beyond 
The precincts of the tomb. 

'Tis all we have to cheer our earthly way ; — 
Soft breathes its music from those crystal lands. 
Amid whose groves the spirit soon shall stray ; 
And share the joys that never fade. 
With bright-robed angel bands. 



130 



TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF WM. F. GATES. 



TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF WM. F. GATES. 



" All the world's a stage." 



Thou hast played thy brief part in the drama of life ; 

Through its many strange scenes thou hast fearlessly 
trod, 
And at last left its tumults, its cares, and its strife, 

To dwell in the home of thy God ! 

Oh ! thine was the skill to soothe sorrow's deep pang, 
Or dispel the dark clouds of the world-weary heart ; 

How oft the loud plaudits of thousands have rang 
'Neath the spell of thy soul-cheering art ! 

But Death, the stern prompter, hath called thee away, 

From the false world's illusive and glittering toys ; 
And now amid happier scenes thou shalt stray, 

And share with bright angels their joys. 
Yes ! the light hath departed that smiled on our way; 

Yet it soothes us to think, as we shed the warm tear. 
Though our eyes may no more greet its welcoming ray, 

It still beams in a lovelier sphere. 



STANZAS. 131 



STANZAS. 



Who lives through life's season, 

And knoweth not love, 
Hath refused the high mission 

Sent down from above ; 
His breast is a winter 

Of desolate hours ; — 
Where the spring-time ne'er comes 

With its verdure and flowers. 

Oh ! how wild is the transport — 

How perfect the bliss !^ 
When lip presseth lip 

In a love glowing kiss ! 
And the arms are encircled 

Around the loved form ; 
And the low-murmured words 

Are impassioned and warm. 

Love planteth the seeds 
Of delight in the heart ; — 

Whose quick-springing blossoms 
Rich fragrance impart ', 



132 



Then give him kind welcome, 

Ye bosoms of snow — 
He will cheer your cold hearts 

In his torch's warm glow. 

The whole world will then wear 

A new beauty and bloom j 
And the flowers of life 

Yield a sweeter perfume. 
Oh! reject not the blessing 

God's goodness hath given 
To mortals as well 

As to angels in heaven I 



LOVE'S PHASES. 



133 



LOVE'S PHASES. 

Love reigneth not in every breast alike — 
It hath degrees — and taketh many shapes \ 
How lightly some put on the mystic chain — 
As though it were, at best, a toy 
Caprice may cast aside. 

There is a love, 
Comes of the flashing of a lustrous eye — 
The hand's soft clasping — or an artful word — 
When drop'd from cunning lips enwreathed in smiles ; 
But love like this is like the meteor's light, 
And lures hut to deceive. 

There is a love, 
Much like the bubble glist'ning in the brook ; 
Bright while the sun shines forth ; but when a cloud 
Conceals its golden beams, the gaudy thing 
Grows lustreless and dim. It is the love 
That springs from selfishness, and builds its trust 
On fortune's smiles, much more than on the heart; — 
A glittering delusion ! 

There's a love 
Of still another kind — so fickle — false, 
So transient in itself — so vain — so bold — 
And so successful too — we scarce can find 
Its apt similitude : 'Tis not unlike 



134 love's phases. 



The ever changing bee, that leaves the flower 
He just hath won, and rifled of its sweets ; 
And seeks again another blushing prize, 
To be in turn deserted. 
There's a love 
Of far superior stamp ! a love whose flames 
Burn in the temple of the generous heart 
With hope inspiring rays ! a love that clings 
Close to its idol with an earnest faith — 
A deep and deathless fervor ! such the love 
That brings upon the cheek a roseate blush 
At utterance of a name. How thrills the heart 
When thus affection's music-chords are touched — 
With long and deep vibrations ', this is love, 
Not of the heart alone, but of the mind, 
And fortified by wisdom and by truth- 
Inspiring lofty thoughts, and noble aims ; 
Tinting the scenes of life with brighter hues; 
And shedding o'er the soul a rich perfume. 
Sweet as the breath of roses. Love like this 
Grows never dim ; but in the heart's recess 
Its altar fires as brightly still will burn, 
Should storms of dark adversity assail, 
As in bright fortune's warm and prosp'rous gale ! 



THE OLD INKSTAND. 



135 



THE OLD INKSTAND. 



I love it ! — I love it ! let no rash hand 
Convey from my desk that old inkstand ! 
I have treasured it upvrards of several years — 
I have spattered it over with inky tears — 
And ne'er from its base has leaked out yet 
A single drop of its shining jet. 
You'd better believe it : a workman planned 
And fashioned the form of that old inkstand ! 

I have dipped my pen in it millions of times 
When inditing epistles or ftishioning rhymes, 
And I value it highly, you may depend— 
For to me 'tis a trusty and liberal friend ! 
Though faces may wear for me now no more 
The smiles of affection which once they wore, 
I say, let them go, if it be their will, 
For my inky friend is faithful still ! 

It never demanded a quid pro quo ; 
It never gets tired and wants to go ) 
And oft do I gaze, with a miser's pride. 
On the fountain that yields me its sable tide. 
You may smile at my love as a foolish dream. 
While the scalding tears o'er my paper stream. 
But I'll give him "Jessie" whose daring hand 
Abstracts from my desk that old inkstand ! 



136 



HER HEART CANNOT FORGET. 



HER HEART CANNOT FORGET. 



Still in the maiden's fond and trustful breast, 

The love-fire burns 
For him — the absent one — the dearest — best — 
And like the flower that to the day-god turns, 

From east to west, 
For him, for him, her ardent spirit yearns 

With sweet emotions blest ! 

Ah, yes, through changeful hours, love's holy light 

Is cherished yet ! 
Nor space, nor time, nor absence, shall not blight 
The flowers of hope and trust, that bloom so bright, 

With love-tears wet : 
JZefills her thoughts by day — her dreams by night j 

Her heart cannot forget ! 



COME, SING ME SOME BALLAD. 137 



COME, SING ME SOME BALLAD. 

The sun has gone down 

'Neath the horizon's bound ; 
And the shadows of evening 

Are closing around ; 
But the cares of the day 

Linger still in my breast, 
Depriving my spirit 

Of calmness and rest. 

Come, sing me some ballad — 

Some song of thy choice ; 
And blend the piano's 

Soft tone with thy voice : — 
Not the grand compositions 

From masters of old — 
They would fall on my senses 

Unmeaning and cold. 

But sing me some simple 

And soul-soothing lay, 
Gushing forth with the strain 

Of the music you play, — 
Then! oh, then, the stern thoughts 

In my bosom that throng, 
Shall be lulled into rest 

By^the spell of thy song ! 



138 



THE FANCY DRESS BALL. 



THE FANCY DRESS BALL. 



Ricli festive music fills the spacious hall, 
And youthful hearts iDcat high in wild delight ; 
And eyes dance bright in joy's delicious thrall, 

For care has fled, and in his stead 

Gay fancy holds the night, 

Mark you that dusky Indian's subtle tread, 
How like some wily snake he glides along • 
And now he grasps the hand of yon fair maid, 

Who starts not at the red man's gaze. 

Nor fears his glittering blade. 

The eye were keen indeed that could detect 
In that dark Indian — or who Indian seemed, 
Aught that pertains to christian look or act; 

The mind would turn on deeds of blood, 

And peaceful cottage sacked. 

Gayly the night rolls on — hold, no, I should say flies ; 
Sweet words and looks of rapture and delight. 
Fast fall from beauty's lips and love-lit eyes — 

Foreshadows of approaching bliss, 

In Hymen's sacred ties. 



THE FANCY DRESS BALL. 



139 



There stands lago — in that open smile 
Lurks no deceit — 'tis clear he hath forgot 
The villain's specious look of hate and pride, 

Enchanted by the magic glance 

Of fair one by his side. 

Now, ladies, mind you keep a watchful eye 
On yonder stranger and his crouching friend ; 
Guard well your jewels — 'tis that wretch " Macaire "- 

Ah! George! the thief his heart may lose, 

I charge you to beware. 

A form appears in glittering armor clad, 

Whose burnished helm, and dancing raven plumes 

Bring back to mind brave deeds of bye-gone days, 

When gallant knight for lady fought. 

To win her smile of praise. 

Now to the dance the noble Pythias leads 

His loved Calanthe — fairest of the fair ; 

Well may his heart-pulse throb more quick and free 

While listening to that voice, which speaks 

Her soul's deep melody. 

My simple pen hath not the power to trace 

In words, what beauty and what joy were there ; 

Nor can it e'er depict the enchanting grace 

Of beaming faces, lit with love, 

Death only may erase. 



140 



THE FANCY DRESS BALL. 



In the far future, whatsoe'er my lot. 

Nought shall efface remembrance of that scene; 

Visions of well-known forms will hover then, 

And memory brood on early joys 

Life ne'er may know again. 

'Tis sweet to think that in this world of care, 
Bright hours of joy and mirth we still may claim ; 
Then let the bigot frown — the wise will share. 

Those harmless pleasures meant to bless, 

Nor yield to dull despair ! 



THE BROOKLYN GIRLS. 



141 



THE BROOKLYN GIRLS. 



Brooklyn is a glorious city : 

Yes — it is ! 
Its girls are artless, fair and pretty ; 

No joke about it ! 
I love to see their little feet 
Propelling tliejn along the street ] — 
And meet their glances, sly and sweet 

You'd better doubt it ! 



The Brooklyn girls are full of glee ; 

Yes — they are ! 
Their manners gentle, kind, and free- 

No joke about it ! 
No cloud of gloom above them lowers : 
But songs, and music, mirth, and flowers, 
Make still more bright their sinless hours ; 

You'd better doubt it ! 

The Brooklyn girls have cheeks like roses ) 

Yes — they have ! 
Bright, pouting lips and classic noses ; 

No joke about it ! 



142 



THE BROOKLYN GIRLS. 



Oh, many a form has met my view, 
As fair, as graceful, and as true. 
As e'en the Venus Titian drew ; 

You'd better doubt it! 

The Brooklyn girls are joyous creatures ! 

Yes — they are ! 
Fun sticks out on all their features : 

No joke about it ! 
Let New York boast its ladies fair — 

I'll take my solemn 1 declare 

With the Brooklyn girls they can't compare ! 

You'd better doubt it ! 



THE SUMMER SHOWER. 



143 



THE SUMMER SHOWER. 



The noonday sun, with angry frown, 

Flings fierce his fiery vengeance down, 

And each green thing grows sere and brown, 

Beneath his scorching eye. 
The herds have left the burning glade. 
And couched within the friendly shade 
A giant oak's tall branches made. 

They all supinely lie. 

No more beyond yon sloping hill, 

Is heard the music of the rill 

That served to turn the clacking mill ', 

Its pebbled bed is dry. 
The birds all hide with drooping wings, 
No voice is heard of living things, 
Save when with startling clearness rings 

The cat-bird's peevish cry. 

See ! 'neath yon boundless arch of blue, 
What darkling clouds upspring to view, 
And rush like phantom chargers through 

Their trackless path on high ! 
And hark! the thunder's rumbling car 
Sounds through the wide expanse afar! 
The proud earth trembles 'neath the jar : — 
The storm-god rules the sky. 



144 



THE SUMMER SHOWER. 



And now oe'er fields of drooping grain. 
In copious floods descends the rain — 
Or pattering on the parched plain, 

Revives the thirsting ground. 
At last the shower has passed away, 
Again bursts forth the god of day, 
Tinting the clouds with heavenly ray, 

That skirt the horizon's bound. 

The flowers shine forth with fresher hue : 

The joyous birds iheir songs renew; 

Its pebbled track the stream runs through — 

Swift turns the mill-wheel round. 
Now the retiring god of day 
Flings o'er the scene his farewell ray ; 
Now sinks to rest, — and evening gray, 

And silence reigns profound. 



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HECKMAN 

BINDERY INC. |g) 

^^ DEC 88 

^By N. MANCHESTER, 
_^-^ INDIANA 46962 






